Survivors' Voices: Family, Part 2
In this final week before Christmas, I am grateful for the gift of my wonderful family. But I’m also very aware that many people I care about struggle with family during this season.
You’ll find a mix of both that gratitude and that pain in this month’s reflections. In case you missed it, you can find the first part of this post here.
My abuse began when I was seven years old. With age and wisdom, I came to recognize that I was an easy target to groom. I was from a family with some heavy problems, which we barely held together. When I was seven, the abuse began. It started with simple hugs which quickly led to some awful and painful experiences. I never told anyone in my immediate family. After a couple years of the abuse, I told an uncle who I thought cared about me. It turned out, he did not care and also abused me, saying it was to be sure I knew what I was talking about. I avoided my uncle and the priest as much as an eleven-year-old could. With the avoidance, much of the abuse stopped. I never gave a voice to it again for many years. The saddest thing is that I do believe that my mother knew. My family lived in survival mode. I've come to realize that she probably could not handle or deal with one more thing and so she did not address the possibility of the abuse. I am truly grateful that I did survive. I am blessed that over time I have made a few close friends who have become like family. They have truly been kind, understanding, and extremely supportive.
I am a convert to the faith so my Protestant family didn't understand why I would remain Catholic after the abuse. It seemed to fuel a lot of anti-catholic sentiment. My husband's family (who is devoutly Catholic) mostly won't talk about or acknowledge the abuse. I am public with my story and when it was published, very few of the family I shared it with responded at all. It was deeply painful for me. I felt invisible again and like the abuse didn't matter. My husband and his aunt have been very supportive and that has been very healing.
When I was 47, after a year of grooming me and my family, my pastor began pursuing me for a sexual relationship. I was able to rebuff him, but the betrayal was devastating. When my mother was in her 20's and had four young children, the priest in residence in her parish groomed and seduced her into a sexual relationship. My parents' marriage was abusive and my mother was vulnerable. Eventually she found out that she was only one in a number of women with whom the priest was having sexual relationships. He said he was "making them feel good about themselves," therefore it was a ministry in his mind. That priest, last I checked, was an abbot in his order. My daughter was assaulted in the confessional in college by a priest she trusted. It's familial with me.
My story about family is not a happy one. I was already on shaky terms with much of my extended family. After the abuse came to light, it was positioned as me having an affair with a priest (it took me over a decade to wrestle with that and begin to see it differently; there was a power differential and he groomed me). Fast forward - once my older daughter turned 18, my ex husband, his wife, and my sibling shared "information" (not accurate) with her. She has never spoken to me again - other than once to yell at me on the phone, then hang up - nor has my younger daughter. That was 11 years ago. I now have one grandchild and another on the way, and likely will never see them. However, after hitting my lowest point about two months ago, I am coming back to life again. I have realized that I am more than the worst thing that (they think) I have ever done. Plus, if Jesus can tell the criminal next to him that today he will be with him in paradise, perhaps he would still love me, as well. I am also starting to see that they can damn me to their own eternal penance, but I don't have to allow those terms or how they perceive me to infiltrate and ruin the rest of my life. I am beginning to feel as though I am worthy of joy again. Awake has played a big role in this. I now focus on those relatives who still love me. Last week, I went back to my hometown to visit friends and family, and was reminded of other parts of me beyond those for which they damn me. In short, I am starting to come to life again - even with very few biological relatives still in my life. And I am grateful.
Because I’ve never pursued an official report of what happened, I’ve relied on my parents’ generosity to pay for therapy and medication. They also provided me with a safe place to land after the abuse, welcoming me back into my childhood home and allowing me to stay for as long as I needed. I couldn’t have come to a place of anywhere near as much healing as I have if it hadn’t been for their willingness to support me.
For better or worse, there are a bunch of reasons I’ve not been able to tell my story to my family. Tragically, one person in my family had a starring role in the situation that led to my abuse. We’ve talked about it, worked through her role. But there’s a lot of shame in what happened, and in her role, and this is part of what prevents me from telling more people in the family. Nobody in my birth family would be helpful. I was raised Protestant, and so if I talked about what happened, most would likely chalk it up to “Catholics,” which isn’t at all the point for me. Beyond that, the family I grew up in is itself really broken - there’s a lot of relationship trauma all over the place there. My mom really has no ability to help, she’d just get angry, maybe try to find someone to blame. My older brother abused me himself as a child, so no luck there either.
The first person I told was my husband. It was shortly after my memories first surfaced (in my 60s). He was shocked but incredibly supportive; unfortunately, I was unable to embrace and absorb that support, as I was still at that time filled with shame because deep inside, I was convinced that the abuse was all my fault. The second person I told was my older sister. I was close to her yet was still convinced that she might not believe me, because my shame and self-blame left me with feelings of total worthlessness. It took me two years to get up enough courage to approach her. Not only did she believe me, but she turned white, sat down, and said, “Oh my God, it’s true!” She clarified that when I was in grade school and she was in high school, her two closest friends told her that their boyfriends had been raped by the same monsignor that raped me throughout grade school. She didn’t believe them at the time. My disclosure flooded her with those high school memories. This was very validating for me. She was nothing but supportive, and that helped me beyond measure. Disclosure to my younger sister did not go as well. It’s not that she didn’t believe me; she just thought I should keep it to myself, and especially not pursue any action against the church. Telling my two adult sons was the hardest. They did not question my honesty, but their shock and confusion was off the charts, and I wasn’t sure how to handle that. Their view of the world did not account for such horrific actions to happen to their own mom (and I had given them very few details). It was awkward and painful for both them and me. As church scandals have continued to emerge, so has their cynicism, disgust, and anger towards the church.
My family has been a source of tremendous blessing and support throughout my journey as an abuse survivor, which I recognize is frequently not the case. My parents understood even before I did that I had experienced abuse and had PTSD — I was still defending my abusers and trying to convince my family members that what had happened had been my fault, while my dad was ready to rip the Sisters' heads off for hurting me. At one point not long after I had left religious life, I was crying and questioning why I hadn’t been able to “make it” in religious life and my dad replied “Because we didn’t raise you to be abused.” It took me a long time - years - to finally come to agree with his assessment of what had happened to me.
Whatever this season is like for you, I wish you both peace and joy.
~ Sara