Survivors' Voices: Trust
Last week, I attended a conference related to sexual abuse in the Catholic Church, and we had many conversations around the theme of trust. In that context, I tried to offer insights I have gleaned from listening to survivors, but I’m grateful to be able to share survivors’ perspectives on that theme more directly here.
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.
I trusted that he was what he said he was. He wore a collar, and served as a Roman Catholic priest. Later some would ask me why I didn't know that he was looking for sex when he turned to me for intelligent conversation, and this is nonsense to me. I trusted him to be who he said he was. I have a difficult time trusting clergy at this point, feeling suspicious of their motives, mostly because they have been unable to truly listen to me or try to understand the way that this priest and then the church abused my trust in them.
Out of genuine love of their faith, and trying to instill our faith traditions in their kids, my parents were very involved at our parish and became dear friends with the associate pastor at the time. They really trusted him. Looking back at our old family photo albums, he was at virtually every major family function as an integral part of our family. He betrayed their affection for him by abusing their little boy. I don't fault my parents for trusting him - that's their honest natural response. It's who they are. I do fault this priest who caused such anguish, grief and despair by betraying their trust and abusing me.
My abuser was someone I'd been seeing for spiritual direction and confession for three years. I was really reliant on his help to manage my anxiety disorder, and there are certain things in my life I'm still not sure I would have been able to do without his help. So it was pretty world shattering when what happened ... happened. I'm pretty certain I'm never going to have a priest for a spiritual director again, and I try to keep my pastor and other priests I know at arm's length. I don't trust any of them.
Mostly, I lost trust in myself. The journey has always been to learn to trust myself again. What started in childhood was a circle I couldn’t easily escape. A beautiful song, a loving story of Jesus, a kind eye, the light glancing and dancing off religious symbols naturally drew me close, opened my heart, and readied me for the kill. What killed me was how god and things deemed holy linked with the abuse, and how that linking led to a loss of Self, self-trust and self-belief. I lost agency when my natural lure toward love opened me to danger of sexual and spiritual abuse, time and time again. This vicious circle repeated itself over and over in my life until I stopped trusting the institution that got me in this predicament, and started trusting the clever Love thread that drew me in, opened me up, and continues to nudge me to trust myself more.
Trust was at the heart of the abuse I survived. We knew Father for about 8 years before he became our pastor. He had worked as regional superior at the headquarters for his order, next door to our home. He is the kind of person who goes out of his way to be kind. Father left his office and changed a tire on my van for me once when I was pregnant and my husband was at work. After Father became our pastor, he started grooming the whole family. He had dinner with us regularly. He came over unannounced and dropped off gifts. He praised us from the pulpit at mass. He did projects and went on outings with my husband and sons. We all loved him. When he started trying to establish secrecy with me, coming to the house when he knew my husband was away, sending me flirty text messages... I was violently ripped from my life and thrust into darkness. The betrayal might be the most disorienting and isolating thing that has ever happened to me.
The Boy Scout "scoutmaster" began sexually abusing me when I was 10 years old. He became a "friend of the family." He took me to concerts, ballgames, and came over one year for Thanksgiving. All of the "nice things" he did for me were classic sexual predator manipulation to gain my trust and take advantage of me for years. I do not trust men. I have no desire to have any male friends. I'm very comfortable around women. My sexuality never changed. If I were a business, my logo would be my arm extended with my hand up toward a male while saying my catch phrase: "You're not getting in, and I'm not coming out.”
Abuses led me to trust everyone more than myself. I am still generous with my trust, though not near as young, naïve, and gullible as I once was. Learning to trust myself more than I trust others allows me to be more vulnerable to you, to others, to life. Now I have boundaries. I will trust you with the story of my life, but never with my personal spiritual path. This is a good way for me. As I learn to trust my self more, I encourage others to trust their intuitive knowing more than they trust me or anyone else.
Thank you for reading. I will share more reflections on this topic next week.
~ Sara