Survivors' Voices: Christmas
I have learned from listening to abuse survivors that their experiences of abuse often color many aspects of their lives, including the celebration of holidays. This month, I thought it might be helpful for us to view the Christmas season through the eyes of survivors.
As always, I am grateful to the men and women who have chosen to share these stories and reflections.
If you have experienced sexual abuse in the Catholic Church, I would be honored to include your perspective in this “Survivors’ Voices” series in 2022. You can find more information and express your interest here.
My abuser was invited over for Christmas dinner one year. Picture a rectangular dinner table with ten people. He sat on the northwest corner of the table while I sat on the southeast corner of the table. I did everything I could beforehand to make sure that was the seating arrangement. I didn't look at him or speak to him the whole time other than saying hello. At this point in my abuse/life, I was so numb I couldn't feel much of anything.
In the simplest of terms, it is natural to recall memories of our youth at Christmastime. I have many fond memories which I consider to be joyous and innocent, alongside many clouded and very painful memories. The juxtaposition of those memories and all of the related emotional family content is difficult for me to reconcile. My memories are clouded by the childhood sexual abuse imposed upon me by a priest who was a dear friend to my parents, and the ways that abuse affected me and how all of that disrupted my family relationships. For many years at Christmas, our family suffered terrible dysfunction and difficulty. Each of my siblings seemed angry, and no one knew why. Eventually, after we gave gifts to one another, we would end up alone and isolated in our rooms. Even my parents, whom I love dearly, seemed distant and quiet during these years. It was not the same Christmas it used to be when I was little.
Christmas for me is fraught, for two reasons. First, one of the major incidents of abuse -- a trip to a mud cave that was followed by abuse in the car and, perhaps, something worse -- happened on the day after Christmas in 1980. Second, because of the smear campaign my archdiocese is waging against me, I'm being shunned not just by my parish but by my kids. They didn't come over to see me during the short Thanksgiving holiday and, I fear, won't come over during the longer Christmas holiday.
I am one of the lucky ones who gets through the Christmas season without significant additional triggers, unlike many other survivors I know. Perhaps that’s because I was raped year-round, so Christmas was no different in terms of abuse frequency. If anything, the parish had more people around, and the priest was busy with extra duties. That left less of his focus on me. I was also fortunate to have a family who made a big deal over Christmas, especially the excitement over Santa Claus. It was a time of festive celebrations and traditions at home, and the anticipation of opening the ever-increasing gifts under the tree once Christmas finally arrived. That helped offset the ongoing sexual trauma that had become routine for my existence in grade school and well into high school.
As a child I was abused and witnessed abuse in broad daylight. Under bright lights, religious lessons worked to distort my understanding of god and of myself. As a child I felt like a spotlight shone on my naked body and revealed the terrible person I was. Intense shame resulted. In the darkness of the Advent and Christmas season, when candles and Christmas lights focused on a docile Jesus and the magical story depicted in the crèche scene, I could come out of hiding a bit and feel the love.
During my healing years, a priest gave me a key to the church so that I could access the building to work on memories and emotions. This was a wonderful gift. One Christmas, during those healing years, I remember huddling close to the manger scene feeling love and protection. Leaving Christianity was healthy for me; however, for the last several years I join my husband in attending Christmas Eve services at the small Christian church he belongs to. In candlelit, carol-sung darkness, I can cry, releasing the big love and grief of so many years.
Dear readers, as we move closer to celebrations of Christmas, I hope your hearts and homes are full of joy.
~ Sara