This isn’t click bait. I am offering a trigger warning because there is mentions of abuse.
I don’t advertise on my page, I don’t get money for clicks. I have respect for you as a reader so I don’t want you to read anything that’ll upset you, because if you’re like me… you’ll think about it later… and i’d hate for that to happen.
I read an article once about abusers. It said they don’t realise in the process of abusing you, the wider impact they are making. As in, they think of immediate results, (immediate gratification?) I guess? But not what it is going to do to you in 20 years.
I read that and the way it was worded was in a way to make a victim feel better. To offer some solace in the fact that you might have been through something traumatic, but please don’t think your attacker, your monster, wanted you to spend hours in therapy, or carefully making decisions in your life because of what happened to you. There is a big part of me that believes that, that my grandfather, who sexually abused me for a number of years, did not want me spend a lot of money talking to a (amazing) therapist…and then there is the other, shall we call her, a feminist, that says “Well fuck that shit, you’re at fault, and there is no reason why you should be excused”
He died. He isn’t around for me to get angry with. To punch him in the face, or to ask him why… Or to forgive, like many people have told me to do… (not my therapist lol). Whenever I talk or write about him, I smell old spice, and I wonder if its his spirit coming around to apologise. I saw a psychic and I wrote about it, that he came to her and said sorry to me. The thing is, I don’t think he did things, because he wanted a lifelong trauma for me. I don’t… but it’s there. It’s there…
I guess I write this, and I am crying. I am… because it hurts. But I write this because I want you to know that if you feel this way, it’s okay, because I do too.
I remember being 16 and thinking how carefree I would be with my children. I thought I would let them definitely have boys or girls over… i’d let em get tattoos, I’d let them go to parties… hell i’d even pick them up and drop them off. I would. At 16, I also thought Hanson was the greatest band of all time – what would I know? right? (they are pretty good, lets be real… mmmm bop? c’mon, lyrical genuis.. not even being sarcastic)
But now? At 30. Now? Dealing with stuff… I’m afraid. I am afraid that they’ll have sleepovers, and someone will try and hurt them. I am afraid that they’ll go to parties and someone will take advantage of them. I am afraid that no matter how hard I try to protect them, that some opportunistic asshole will take advantage of them. I hate that every time I open social media, the fear is reinforced.. and these people get away with it.
The fear cripples me.
I know that I can’t and shouldn’t live like this, and believe me when I tell you, I am getting help. I am. I do everything in my power everyday to feel confident and normal. But there are some things that break and a very hard to fix… what do they say about trust and a mirror? I don’t want to be the mum that guilts her children, and I won’t be. But I might be the mum that says they can’t have sleepovers until they’re 18 and only when they can confidently perform jujitsu and theres technology that places an alert out to me and the police with a push of a button.
I thought about this, driving, and I missed three turns because I was so deep into thought. How do I do it? Will I be able to let go of something I have gripped on to so tightly, that comfort in knowing if they are by my side they can’t be hurt. “It’s not healthy” I know… I know it’s not. I can only hope that I continue to recover and that i’ll let go of that fear. I really really do.
I wonder if abusers, if pedophiles knew the impact they made. If they knew, what they did to us, 30 years later, that it hurt and it burned, and it led us to worry about the future and have anxiety… be the cause of it. If they would do it. I don’t know if I find comfort in knowing that.
I do understand that a pedophile almost always grows up with their own form of abuse, so in a way they’ve been let down too, and its sad, and that is why I want to be a social worker, because I want to save all the little me’s and the others who have been let down. I’ll admit it. I’ll work damn hard to do it.
I am survivor of abuse. That makes me proud. But it’s not something I want for anyone else. It’s not something I want for my children. To ever survive from something.
I just want them safe and sound.