Survivors' Voices: Being Heard, Part 2
"Being heard is so close to being loved that for the average person, they are almost indistinguishable." - Counselor and theologian David Augsburger
I am honored to share some powerful reflections on this topic from those who have experienced abuse in the Catholic Church. (In case you missed it, Part One of this blog post here.)
What might we learn from listening to these voices?
In my first meeting with my current spiritual director, I shared the basics about myself, my academic research interests, my spiritual journey, and especially my history of abuse in the Church and how it’s affected me. I wasn’t sure what to expect from him in response, but he was gentle, held what I’d shared reverently, and didn’t act shocked by anything I said. All of that was good, but the thing that really made me feel *heard* was when he acknowledged how deeply the abuse has affected every aspect of my life and how difficult and heavy that burden is, and yet how I’ve managed to excel at the highest levels of academia and in other areas of life. He heard my story and was somehow simultaneously able to see me as a capable, competent, intelligent, and even faith-filled woman who’s succeeding in so many ways and at the same time to see, at another level, how completely the abuse shattered me and how broken it’s left me. He knew—and was able to articulate—that I’m more than just the brokenness, but also more than just the success: I’ve succeeded even while carrying this awful burden and deep brokenness. He could see that I needed (and need) accompaniment in the suffering, but that I’m not helpless or needy. He could see that, while I wanted his help, I was not and would not be dependent on him: I can and will take care of myself, I’m competent and capable. It was the first time I’d had both levels acknowledged, rather than *just* my success or *just* my brokenness. I felt seen and heard and acknowledged in ways I hadn’t even known I needed. That ability to see and hold both truths at the same time—truths that I knew intuitively about myself but had never articulated—*that* made me feel heard.
One day I summoned the courage to call the abusive priest’s superior at the monastery. I described what was going on, including this priest’s sneaking off monastery grounds to break his vows under the pretext of seeing his family. I described my concerns and the pattern of behavior I was seeing, and the superior sounded concerned. “Yes, that is very troubling,” he said. “Let me pray about this overnight and then I can figure out what I can do.” I was impressed, and grateful. Someone would take action on my behalf, and take responsibility. The next day I called back, full of anticipation. What would he do? How would he rein in this wayward priest? What guarantees and safety could he offer me? Instead, these were his words to me: “After prayerful consideration, there’s not anything I can do.” This felt like a thorough betrayal - of me, my suffering and of his mission as superior of that monastery.
Being heard means that someone generously listens to and understands your thoughts, feelings, or concerns. It’s not just about the act of hearing words but about active engagement, empathy, and validation. When you feel heard, you sense that your voice matters and that someone values your perspective.
There was a time I was in a support group and another member asked me a direct question about something I experienced. I responded in a vulnerable way and was received with such gracious love. It was tremendously healing. I would not have been heard had my friend not been so bold as to ask the question and if I had not been brave enough to answer in a sincere and honest way. I found I must be open to have a chance at being heard.
Sometimes I'm heard by another when I didn't even realize what I said. A comment made in friendship or words spoken in prayer will offer the other person a new perspective, an insight, or simple encouragement. These moments sustain my faith and give me hope that God Himself is the one listening and that He hears us.
This past year we've ramped things up with my case in ways I thought were good, and I thought to myself, I surely will be heard by these people. We sent an open letter to Pope Francis and to the Papal Nuncio at the Vatican Embassy. I was not heard by either of them. I have been dismissed, silenced, and thrown to the curb so many times that I no longer count. Being heard by my advocates, loving family and friends is where I draw strength. The revictimization of not being heard is very real, and very painful. I will continue to move forward every time I am knocked down, and sometimes I have to come up swinging. It's definitely a battle… sometimes a fierce battle.
They won't hear what I've borne witness to. They aren't learning the lesson and their "faith" is ignorant.
Being heard and being listed to when sharing my story were two different things. I was heard by a lot of people when I refused to sign my non disclosure agreement. Money was not going to buy my silence for what happened to me. Not signing the NDA spoke volumes about being paid for silence. Being listened to was the gift of my husband, friends, spiritual director, and therapist (my “God Squad”). As I processed the experiences after decades of holding it all inside for fear of retribution, my God Squad never left my side, always checking in and offering their heart to listen. It was a life saver for me.
My friend later said that she'd sensed "something" was wrong. Bringing her into my confidence about the abuse I experienced took over a year because of the very real fear and shame of being accused and blamed. Many who are abused as adults find this kind of response, but my friend proved to be an exception. She received me, cried with me, and sat in proper disbelief of the abuser, not me. Over a period of months, I was able to share more and more with her as she had proven herself trustworthy. My confidence in my own story grew and the weight of bearing such a "secret" wasn't such a burden. Being heard, being believed and received without the questions of "why" was such a gift. It helped build my courage to take the next steps I needed for myself.
As I continue to pursue my clergy sexual abuse case, the act of "being heard" comes up often. I am grateful to have connected with some advocates who have been incredibly important to me , and who've helped me move forward in many ways. These are people who I have come to deeply care for, as they are also caring for me in ways I am eternally grateful for. THESE are the people who I know down to the bottom of my heart really hear me. From the start, after sending my impact statement to the archbishop of the diocese where my abuser still remains in ministry (working amidst vulnerable boys and girls), I have not been heard at all. Less than three weeks after sending him my documents I received a cold letter stating my allegations were not credible. I knew at that point the battle I was fighting (and continue to fight) was uphill. Detailed letters were send to the institution's Board of Directors, Board of Trustees, and the homes where these young adults live. I didn't receive a single response from anyone. Every time a letter was sent out, I had hope in my heart that someone would care and listen. That did not happen.
One time I felt truly heard was in face-to-face confession. In confession, I told my priest about what was going on in that moment, and how I was having to confront the present situation of an abusive priest. I said I was deeply scared. My confessor priest said, “First of all, I am truly sorry.” He didn’t defend or distance the picture I had painted, he didn’t make my story about him or about how not all priests were bad. He just heard me, and believed what I said. As a priest, he showed his sorrow that another priest could behave as I described. Then he continued: “You know, it is not a sin to be afraid.” This was the anchor I needed to make it through the next few horrible days. To hear his affirmation of my story, to know that he truly heard me and believed me, and wasn’t pinning blame on me was one of the biggest, and most needed, gifts I have ever.
Thank you for listening. These stories and voices deserve to be heard.
~ Sara