Survivors' Voices: Christmas, Part 2
As we move closer to the celebration of Christmas, I am honored to share another set of reflections from abuse survivors about this holiday. (You can find the first part of this post here - Survivors’ Voices: Christmas.) Read to the end for a little dose of hope in the midst of the sadness.
Thank you to each person who chose to share their life and their heart in this way.
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.
Holidays are always hard me. It may sound silly but one of the difficult things is that Mass is usually packed full. This is very triggering for my anxiety; Mass is hard for me under ordinary circumstances. But the biggest pain point is that when I decided to go public with my story of clergy abuse, my entire family abandoned me, so I no longer spend holidays with them. That has been exquisitely painful. I’m grateful to have friends who have invited me into their homes, but the holiday is clouded by the pain of rejection and abandonment from my family.
Over the years, I left the Catholic Church twice due to a history of priest sexual abuse; I have been Jewish for 26 years. I haven't done anything for Christmas in years and I don't miss it. My adult children and grandchildren enjoy the commercial trappings of the season - the trees, decorations, Santa, Elves on Shelves, and gifts. This year one of my daughters and her daughter who live with me are struggling. We had a nice Chanukah, but to elevate their mood they need more color and bright lights. They need cheering up. So, for the first time in years, I have Christmas decorations in my home, and I'm fine with it. We're sharing in the festivities with those around us, and if it brings a bit of happiness to my family, then it's all good.
In the aftermath of what happened to me, I found that a religious society that I had trusted and grown up around has a history of, and continues to engage in, brushing abuse and grooming under the rug. Long story short, I still maintain friendships with a couple members, but we've largely had to cut ties. It's a little difficult around the holidays because we used to go to their big Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. A lot of these people watched me grow up and I was close to them; it's hard not being a part of that world anymore.
To be honest, since being abused by my pastor, every holiday carries pain. It’s as if a line was drawn in the sand, dividing my life pre and post abuse. Memories of holidays celebrated as the innocent person I was before being abused by my pastor are a knife in my heart every bit as much as the tainted ones after. My first Christmas after being abused was spent staring into a corner with an indescribable pain in my body as my little girl kept trying to interact with me; I could only mumble at her. My older children looked on with concern. I have a photo someone took of this, and I kept it for when I needed courage during the reporting process. Santa hadn’t brought his normal haul and our normally fresh-cut tree was a side-of-the-road half-dead pine picked up a few days prior. Going to Christmas mass in spite of PTSD, I feel envious of all the people I see whose souls are untouched by the trauma of clergy sex abuse. At the same time, I’m grateful to God that they don’t know it.
Sadly, I find most "Church" holidays isolating. Unfortunately, during my childhood the hustle and bustle of preparations led to added opportunities for the abuse to occur. There were a few years of home celebrations that the priest who abused me found a way to our family dinner table. Even after many years, I still withdraw into myself and struggle to push that aside to celebrate the joy of the season. Maybe this is the year for joy.
Christmas for a really long time was incredibly difficult - overflowing with difficult memories and harsh triggers. I tried so hard to make myself feel the joy it seemed like I should and like everyone around me was experiencing; to feel the connectedness and love that other families seemed to experience, even that my own family seemed to, while I felt so alone and on the outside. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong. Slowly, over the last few years, I’ve been learning that God doesn’t need me to pretend to be joyful. He doesn’t need me to pretend to be anything, or manufacture anything in myself. I can come to the stable with empty hands and broken heart, and find a place there. For me, the gift of Christmas has been coming to see that - after all the thousands of years of brokenness and desperate longing, in the darkness and quiet of that night, of my night - He slips in and changes everything.
In light of these stories, may I offer a gentle encouragement to all those who are reading? Please consider taking some time this Christmas to reach out to someone you care about who may be spending this holiday alone or in pain. It could make a real difference.
Merry Christmas,
Sara
It was a comfort to me read how other survivors deal with Christmas. I feel separated from the theme of Christmas that is about Christ’s birth. I no longer believe anything I learned from my religion classes through 12 grades of a Catholic school.