I stated in a recent post that a terrible price was paid – for my memories of sexual abuse which resulted in significant personal healing for me. It has been difficult to write since then. This topic has been in my awareness as I wrote prior posts, especially as I wrote about family members and was gently chided by a friend who read some of my posts about my family history – he wondered whether I was writing in integrity – because of my disclosure of disclose some of what I wrote about family. This wondering in turn caused me to write a series of posts about dirty little secrets. And I have written more on that topic, which I have yet to post. So many threads of thoughts drift off. Now this one of family has returned, unexpected. I did not sit down to write this aspect about my sexual abuse in the recent post about not having a tribe, but it popped up anyway. It wants to be told.
This terrible price was paid by me and by my siblings, my children, my nephews, my father’s sister, and especially by my father.
I accused him of sexually abusing me in my early childhood.
The strange thing is that in neither of my memories, did I see the abuser’s face.
I simply “knew” it was my father.
Our home was not peaceful. Disharmony reigned between our parents as they navigated a growing family (5 children) and various personal and marital issues. Sometimes they lashed out at us, but mostly it was the two of them. Sometimes it was scary. Mom throwing things. Dad walking out the door. My response to this has shifted over the years.
I was not aware that I myself carried the hostility I was raised with until I lost two close friends in my 30s and 40s. The first tried to talk to me about it. The second told another when she abandoned our friendship that she “didn’t want to do battle with Annie.”
When my first child was young, I began to choose forbearance over disharmony, but it has been a long journey.
Although I had mitigated some of the pattern I grew up with, I could still be very vehement and angry at times. Even now, I have to check myself (especially when I feel something critical is at stake). I am grateful to say that I am now in control of my responses. It has truly taken a lifetime, as well as a great deal of patience and love and honesty from my closest family members.
It didn’t happen all at once. There were steps along the way.
Having my two younger children, close in age, enter their teenage years and witnessing their arguments brought me to a place where I started to actually distance myself from disharmony in any form. Somehow it brought me right back to the fear connected to my parents’ fights.
Only in recent years have I have learned to remove myself from arguments and keep my thoughts to myself at even the threat of disharmony. I’m sure there are moments when this is not ideal, but overall I would say it’s a positive development. (I do stand my ground when necessary.)
My second husband, strong, honest and devoted, has brought me much of this last distance. And I have to say that my son shared insights with me on our recent trip that shifted my awareness even more. I have always been hardest on the men I love most.
Now in my 60’s, I can no longer blame Mom.
I’m still noticing my responses (inner and outer), and evolving into the person I want to be. Most recently, a channeled message from Sri Pune let me know that understanding my son and my husband would change me – and make me a better shamanic practitioner.
I am making headway.
I have written a lot here, and there is a lot more to say about all that happened. I see that I will have to continue another day. Soon.
I have noticed that it’s best for me to intersperse more neutral topics with personal revelation in my posts. It took me 5 days after the last one to write this one. I wasn’t sure I could do it.
But here I am, and it’s important that I continue to shed light on that which I deeply regret.
There is THE TRUTH, not lying – and then there is the truth of full disclosure – especially since I have written some things about others. (And yes, I realize that there is a difference in who does the telling. I also realize that telling one’s own story is not the same as telling the stories you know about others. And I may have more light to shed on that.)
I know that many of you hold understanding and compassion in your hearts, and for this I am grateful.
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8 hummingbird way 