Here is my story, I hope it gives you strength to share yours
“Being a victim of child sexual abuse has been the most crippling and life changing experience of my life. It took me almost a lifetime to recover. Changing the language from "victim” to "survivor" was really an influential part of my journey and I will continue to defeat all the cognitive and physical challenges, but I will never give up and neither should any of you who are #survivors"
Whether your story is like mine...
the man who was supposed to be my protector, hero, father. Instead was my predator, monster, and now a stranger. Or, if it's someone you've never met. It doesn't matter, never stay silent, voice your trauma and never be afraid to share your trauma.
Twenty- seven years sounds like a long time...But, in the grand scheme of recovery it's a blip. I'm using this platform to tell you all my story in detail once, so that a part of me can put this trauma to bed. This post is most definitely a place for hope in my strength via conversation, yet it will trigger many. So, if at any time you feel it's too much, please click away and do something positive.
I was molested at the age of four ...
by my biological father, let's call him Jr for blog purposes. Incestuous abuse is the term that's followed me always. I think it only happened a few times, but I only remember what my subconscious protects me from remembering. I don't have a trigger date that I can pin point but I know it was October because I remember the halloween decorations and that it was the beginning of the off season for the MLB. He was home full time from the road being the Equipment Manager of the NY Mets... Know who I'm talking about yet?...
The first and only time I only remember any kind conscious physical pain associated with my abuse was the night I told my mother what my father did to me.
As the nighttime routine always went, my mother was running the bath for me but this time as I went to sit down into the water, the pain was so excruciating that I shot up holding my vagina due to the burning sensation that I couldn't handle. My mother started to try to console me and when she asked me what happened, did I fall, scratch myself, pogo stick?? anything? As I was the little kid who hurt themselves constantly she initially thought nothing of it. To be honest, don't think anything would have prepared her for my words to be "Daddy touched me". She asked me again, in shock because who wouldn't be, and when i repeated myself after pointing to what I meant, if i remember correctly she left the bathroom for "a towel" but she really went to throw up in her bathroom sink.
The first time my mother confronted my father about it, and his initial deflect was he must've hurt me on accident picking me up as I was transitioning out of diapers. She believed him as any wife would, this is her husband and his daughter, there was no reason not to. But, after the bath incident she knew something was very fucking wrong. My mother made a few phone calls , packed our bags and we went right to my grandmothers.
I have always carried the trauma from it, and it always seems to pop up in the most inconvenient times. Especially when I started becoming sexually active. Some things were so familiar to me, because I didn't remember having done them before until I was like mid- my first blow job and I cried. Thankfully no one I ever dated was THAT big of a douche that they didn't understand if I needed to stop. It was like everything clicked my freshman year of high school, and even though I had been so used to talking about being molested from years of therapy, the fact that my DAD did that to me and I fully understood the word. It fucking hit me like a freight train. I was a mess from then on to be honest. That started my inability to focus, sexual promiscuity, the self loathing, the cutting, the anxiety and panic attacks, the bouncing from relationship to relationship. And, the diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder.
Fast forward to earning a Masters degree in psychology. Which was even worse to fully understand why my abuser is the way he is. On top of sitting in a classroom listening to professor after professor bash how bad it is to have Borderline patients. That was fun.
Had she not asked me, or had I not responded the way I did... i honestly don't know where my life would be now.
The details that I remember or that my subconscious has let me relive are just gross and upsetting. One sad memory I have was that I actually stood and peed in the same spot in our family room where I was abused a few months later. If that doesn't wave a red flag for PTSD i don't know what does. The phrases "Don't tell your mother", "Don't you love me" certain movies, sounds, time of year. Everything. My triggers are endless unfortunately. To try to protect me, my mother was bringing Jr. to court to gain full custody over me. Should be easy right, for child sex abuse allegations, Pediatric physical examination statements, an emotionally damaged child? In a world before the #MeToo movement my mom didn't stand a chance even with all the proof in the world. We all know the power of the white male predator with a large bank account.
When the custody battle began, he had already cut my mom off financially because of the "abuse allegations" she was throwing at him to take all his money and destroy his reputation according to him. The events that I remember entailed therapy sessions with a forensic psychologist, working through exercises that showed I could draw a penis at 4 years old, re-enact being bent over with the Daddy doll and Christen doll, when asked to show him what happened when we "played." The court mandated physically exam where I just remember four doctors staring at my vagina because of the tearing that had occurred during my abuse. Which in the findings were thankfully non- genital penetrative, as my hymen was still in tact. But they couldn't conclusively tell what objects or how many times had caused such irritation and tearing.
The whole court case was rigged basically...
My father worked for the NY Mets since 1976, so he had power, a ton of defense attorneys and the Wilpon's money to fund his "custody battle." He had every single person paid off, which made it impossible for my mother to stand a chance.
1. The psychologist told my mom to wait to go to the hospital aka to protect my father from any DNA of his that could've been found.
2. The forensic psychiatrists written reports/ when he took the stand as an "expert witness" stated he found nothing to be conclusive during our sessions, which was a lie. Of course, years later my mom found checks between him and phone bills showing the direct contact between the psychiatrist, the judges, and my fathers legal team. Hm, not illegal at all.
3.The judge was replaced mid-trial and the new judge, who my father also was slipping money to, granted JOINT CUSTODY to a child molester. My poor mom had been backed into a corner of having to move back into the house in order to protect me from anything else happening because I was forced to live with my father from October to February aka baseballs off season, and with my mother the rest of the year.
A Whirlwind is how I describe my childhood...
I lived with my abuser on and off until I was 16 years old, 12 more years of emotional abuse. Jr. is without a doubt the most emotionally abusive person you'll ever meet. My OCD is so extreme because of him. The sound of a garage door opening is so triggering for me I actually will begin to sweat til this day from the PTSD I have of him coming home and never knowing what kind of mood he would be in. Everything always had to be clean and organized or he would flip the fuck out. From the refrigerator down to his disgustingly meticulous color coordinated closet. Even if the house was spotless he would find something to scream about, throw, break things. It's one trigger I don't know why I can't shake still to this day. The physical abuse had stopped for me , but had unfortunately been turned back again on my mother.
The whole situation was just fucking bizarre, and having to explain it was even worse. It was a situation I just couldn't understand, I was too little to get why I was living at my grandma's in queens, still going to the same school on long island, all of a sudden not seeing my father, but my parents were still married? My parents separated the night we left, but we still lived with him in the same house and everything. The last night of September, my mom and I would sit and she would hold me while I would cry that I didn't want to live with him and I didn't understand why I had to go. It was horrible. Being a mother now I can't imagine what that would be like if Freya was crying to me.
The chaos was so normal to me that the whole situation didn't settle in as just how SO fucked up it was until I was older. My normal was my parents had other girlfriends/boyfriends but they were still married and playing house. Sorry to anyone i've ever cheated on #ItsTheTrauma. On paper, the custody agreement said Throughout the years for the time that I was living with my mother we must have moved 8 times, because we tried to live anywhere else but "Cook Street". My mom struggled as a single mom because JR. would hold everything and anything he could over her head. He was so inconsistent with me and was never their for anything important, no school plays, recitals, basketball games. Never. Even the holidays were
"Stand up and be the voice of the voiceless as my mother did for me. Remember to love yourself and face the darkness - there is always light."
One H U G E part of my life is my recovery journey as a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. If you or anyone you know is suffering please find a few links below to aid in the healing process.
Your voice matters, speak and be heard
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