Asking forgiveness

I was talking with a fellow blogger the other day, Her young son was acting up and he knew he was doing wrong. He quickly said I'm sorry as soon as time out was mentioned. She said that he uses "I'm sorry" all the time now thinking it will get him out of trouble. This reminded me of a piece by Erma Bombeck that I clipped out and tucked away many, many years ago. It is one of my favorites. Just think of this the next time someone says, "I'm sorry."

Asking forgiveness is harder than forgiving

"I'm sorry."

It starts as two little words a child puts together when he has broken a toy or wet his pants.

But the two little words have a great effect on Mama. Her eyes soften, her lips part into a smile and she envelopes him with her arms in a show of forgiveness.

To a child, "I'm sorry" is the miracle phrase of the century.

"I'm sorry I pulled up all of Grandma's flowers by the roots." Mama shakes her head and smiles. Grandma even snickers. It's still working.

"I'm sorry I took a candy bar without paying and hid it under my coat." Mama's smile fades. In fact, she insists the child walk right into the store and say those two little words to Mrs. Musselman who doesn't smile at all.

"I'm sorry I didn't clean my room today." "I'm sorry I got an F in geography." "I'm sorry I lost my sweater." "I'm sorry about the TV knob. It just came off in my hand." "I'm sorry I don't like cauliflower." "I'm sorry I forgot to say I'm sorry."

Mama responds numbly to it now. Occasionally she mumbles, "You should be."

"I'm sorry I wrecked the car." "I'm sorry I took the money from your purse." "I'm sorry I lied to you."

Mama has now had it with "I'm sorry." She says, "You think it solves everything. Well, it doesn't. You've said it too many times before." It isn't working. What happened?

Most of the mothers who write me wonder how they can tell when a child says, "I'm sorry," and means it.

There was the daughter who ran away from home to live with her boyfriend in the home of his parents who were really "neat." She was sorry. There was the son who lied to his grandmother to get money to have this truck fixed and used it for an abortion for his girlfriend. He was sorry.

Maybe I'm naive, but I believe every time they say, "I'm sorry," they mean it. It's the only phrase they've got to try and recapture that wonderful moment when our eyes soften, our lips part in a smile and we take them in our arms and forgive them.

It isn't easy to forgive. Never underestimate how tough it is for parents to go back to square one and start trusting them again. They've been hurt, lied to, humiliated and emotionally ripped off.

I have to remember there's only one thing harder in this world than forgiving.

It's to ask for forgiveness armed only with, "I'm sorry."

Taking care of myself

Making myself go to the doctor has always been an issue with me. I need to go. I am terrified and reluctant for two reasons. First, it seems no one ever listens to me. Second, when I listen to myself I even think I sound like a hypocondriac. But, deep in my heart I know I am wrong. I ignore sign and signals from my body and I know this is related to the abuse. I had a hernia when I was about 13 or so. That's how old I was when my abuser pointed it out and told me to tell my mother. But, how could I. The shame was unbearable. Some of that still sticks with me. I know that I shouldn't feel this anxiety, but I do all the same. All my life I have had physical problems on and off. They were always dismissed by whoever I told. My mother told me double vision was normal. I never told anyone about the bladder problems. Too embarrassed. When I was 19 I finally worked up the nerve to go the the doctor about the hernia. It was dismissed. He couldn't find anything so he didn't believe me. I finally had it repaired when I was 24. My husband had to talk to the doctor. I guess I'm not believable.

Recognizing effects

I think that one of the hardest effects of the abuse to overcome is confidence in myself and the ability to confront. I have tried hard all my life to appease everyone. Not to make conflict. Standing up for what I know is right has always been difficult. I struggle with this still. I work on it constantly.

From an early age, I was shown not to make trouble. Never to argue. This was reinforced with violence. I watched in fear everytime my mother tried to stand up to my SF about something. He would get mad and knock her around. or destroy something. I was never allowed to get angry.

Quick Summary of Events

Just a quick run down on my life. My stepfather was my abuser. The earliest memories I have begin at 8 and it finally ended when I was 17. It was on and off during my life. I think. I have repressed a great deal. The worst was from age 11 to 17. At 11, I wanted to commit suicide. At 15, I turned to drugs and alcohol in order to numb. So a great deal of that time period is a blur if remembered at all. My SF was the Dr. Jekyl/Mr. Hyde type. He was the best and the worst father you could have possibly had. He could be the nicest most kind hearted individual you had ever met. And then, he could instantly turn into a monster. He would beat the hell out of my mother. It would put the fear in all of us and that is what someone like that does to control people.

Anyways, I never told (or thought I hadn't) anyone about the abuse until I was 19. (I found out later that I had told my best friend when I was 11, but she never told anyone else) Then, I just lost it one night and broke down and told the guy I was dating at the time. Then, I married someone else when I was 20. Had three wonderful boys within the next 4 years and thought the world was perfect and everything was behind me. Then, I started entering a deep depression and having fits of rage. I was terrified that I would hurt my children, so I entered counseling to deal with the trauma. The last thing in the world that I ever wanted to do was hurt my kids. I love them with all my heart and soul. I think they gave me more life than I gave them. About, a year after I had been in therapy, my mom called me one morning. My SF (who she had separated from when I was 16) had been arrested for child molestation. He had molested the little girl of the family we grew up next door to. He proclaimed his innocence. With shaking hands, a knot in my stomach and all the strength I could muster, I called the investigating deputy and told her my story. He was arrested again. I stood outside the courtroom with the little girl on the day she had to testify. She was 11 and braver than I had ever been. I wasn't allowed to testify in her case except to state how old my SF was. It seems the prosecutors had neglected to establish that fact. The Judge had previously ruled that my case was separate and the facts were not closely enough related to her case to justify my testimony. It was because she has a neighbors child and I was a stepchild. I still don't understand that. The Prosecutors ending up having to drop the most serious charge in the little girl's case. When she got up in front of the jury she was too ashamed to go in to the details. He was convicted only on lewd and lascivious behavior. Probation most likely. But, my case was still to go. The deep emotional scars that had been left were lanced back open. This was the hardest time in my life. I was trying to take care of 3 toddlers, my marriage was crumbling and all the pain of the abuse was out in the open. I lost it. I ended up in the hospital stress center twice during this time. I also started drinking and using drugs again. Anything to try and cope. Finally, the day I got out of the hospital for the second time and only a few days before we were supposed to go to trial again, my SF entered a plea. He agreed to 15 years in prison followed by 15 years probation. He served roughly 8 years and was released. He is still on probation, but he now has Alzheimers and is imprisoned in his mind. I'm not sure which was worse, the years of abuse or having to go back through it all again. I escaped the emotional pain of the abuse by separating from myself. It was like being in the third person watching, but not feeling. During the trial, there was no separating. I had to deal with it head on. It is like opening up an infected wound. You know you have to do it in order to heal but the pain is tremendous because you have to cut back through the scars and new tissue. It was the worst and best thing that could have happened. It was healing for me. And, now luckily I have a relatively boring and ordinary life. This is the readers digest condensed version. The other entries on this blog will deal with more specifics.

About this Blog

I am an incest survivor. I know it sounds so dirty and harsh. But, that is the reality of it. I hope by posting my stories, I can reach out to someone (if someone happens to come along and read this). But, mostly I am doing this for me. I have come a long way in my life and my recovery, but sometimes things still creep up on me. And this is my way of dealing with it. I have been in counseling and it was extremely helpful. I only recently began to write again. I wrote a lot during the years of abuse and for a long time I couldn't write without going through all the pain all over again. And, I still have difficulty writing long hand. For some reason, I can type my thoughts and memories out and they do not have such an emotional impact on me. There will be no order to this. Just how things come to me. It will be about the abuse itself, my spiritual struggle and my identity quest. I am proud of what I have accomplished in my life and who I am. I have come a long ways.