This month I asked the Survivors Voices Panel: Who was the first person you told about your abuse, and how did they respond?
You can find the first set of responses in Part 1 here. The remaining answers are below.
Please tread lightly - you are stepping onto sacred ground.
If you have experienced sexual abuse in the Catholic Church, I would be honored to include your perspective in this “Survivors’ Voices” series. You can find more information and express your interest here.
Who was the first person you told about your abuse, and how did they respond?
The first time I told someone about what had happened to me (I didn't recognize it as abuse) was when I talked to my bishop in early March 2002. He told me nothing had happened. That nothing COULD have happened. That what people were saying about this priest being an abuser was impossible. Given who this bishop was, and how well I knew him, I took him at his word and just went on with my life, thinking nothing had happened. But my body knew. I started having a slow motion nervous breakdown. What's worse, because of who this bishop was, and is, I spent and wasted 10 years and tens of thousands of dollars in therapy, on a wild goose chase, exploring every possible explanation EXCEPT abuse. When people talk about gaslighting, that's what they mean.
One person I told was my close friend, a man my same age who was a diocesan priest. I told him because I wanted and needed help, and because I trusted him. The priest who abused me was my boss, and I didn't know how to stop him from hurting me or the people around me. My friend and I spent hours on the phone, with my friend trying to convince me that I was sexually interested in my pastor/boss, and that any suffering I was experiencing was a result of my disordered desires or expectations. I was so tender at the time, opening myself up to my friend's critique, because it felt like the abuse was my fault - and yet it wasn't. I needed him to see through the mess of roles to notice that I was not at fault for being abused, and that even if I was attractive, young, intelligent and kind, and even if I did like my pastor/boss, this did not mean I was looking for a sexual relationship with him. My refusal of that sexual relationship showed what I wanted, yet all my friend could see was that a priest is meant to be good, so he had to make me bad in order for the story to make sense. If I had a weaker self-concept, I think that conversation would have convinced me that I was sinful, bad, and that I brought the abuse upon myself, because I was female. As it was, I left the conversation emotionally and physically spent after crying and pleading my case, thinking that my friend really did not understand, and feeling alone.
I didn't put the pieces together on my abuse until reading a news story about two other women who experienced the same thing, and recognizing the behavior described. (Sexual inexperience shielded me in some ways but made me more vulnerable in others.) My husband was the one who found the news story and sent it to me. When I said, "I think this may have happened to me; I recognize the behavior," the look on his face helped me realize how serious this all was.
Somehow I found myself in counseling with a nun. I was so ashamed that at first I could only talk around it: I wanted to end my life, I felt so alone, I was so confused. Without naming names I tried to tell her why all I could do anymore was cry. When I finally told her everything and named the priest she simply said “I can see how that could happen.” I met with sister initially every other day, then twice a week, doing intensive trauma therapy. It's been more than 6 years now since “the affair” and I am still trying to come to terms with what happened as being “abuse.” I think if she would have told me in clear and uncertain terms early on “That was abuse,” I would be much further along on this healing journey. But coming to accept it for what it was on my own has been the work I have had to do. I thought it was an affair. He told me he loved me. He left his monastery to discern leaving the priesthood for me. I left my husband. I have not heard from the priest again.
I told the pastor at the parish (my abuser was the parochial vicar). He was so angry at first, then sent me to the vicar of priests instead of the safe environment office. His response deeply wounded me and made it even harder to trust priests in the future. It was a really agonizing time in my life. After the reporting process, he treated me like a stranger even though I was once his spiritual directee. This furthered the impact.
The first person I told was my therapist. I could hardly get any words out, just a general idea of what happened. I was so scared. She said a lot of things you might expect - it wasn’t my fault, all the blame belonged on him, she was glad I told her. But nothing could break through the wall of shame around my heart, until she so gently said, “I already knew.” I know it sounds kind of strange, but it was my first glimpse that it could be ok for someone to know that about me. She had so gently and patiently walked with me for months, knowing what I couldn’t say, and accepting me in all of that.
Thank you for listening.
Please pray for these men and women, and for so many others searching for the right moment to speak up.
Peace,
Sara
The First Person I Told represents stunning acts of courage, trust and hope for a better future, despite such pain and anguish. Thank you for sharing your stories. I'll never forget when I told my wife my story of childhood abuse. I'll never forget each one of you who shared your heartache and pain. I hope each of you may find some comfort by survivors helping other survivors heal from our wounds. As always, thanks again to Sara for providing this healing format.