Let It Go?

Since April is Child Abuse Awareness and Prevention Month, for the past three weeks, I’ve been trying to come up with something on the subject of child abuse to write about in this blog, an important offering that might be the least bit beneficial to abuse victims, their loved ones, and child advocates. Surely, I thought, I’ve gleaned some wisdom since the publication of Call Me Tuesday, a book about my own experience as a victim of abuse, and Call Me Cockroach, in which I detail the damage sustained as a result of my childhood trauma. But each time I sat down to my laptop to write, I came up blank. The problem was, I wanted to write something uplifting and full of hope, and I couldn’t think of anything. So here it is, nearing the end of April, and this is what I have to say. I will warn you now that if you want to learn something encouraging and motivating about child abuse, you should stop reading right here, or skip to the last couple of paragraphs.

Because of my books, I get letters almost every day from readers of all ages who suffered childhood abuse similar to mine. While I appreciate the support of other abuse survivors, and it’s comforting to be reminded that I’m not alone, it’s also depressing and heart wrenching to know so many people have endured horrendous childhoods. Years ago, after I read Dave Pelzer’s, A Child Called “It”, I tried to get in touch with him because, naively and ignorantly, I thought he and I were the only two people in the world who had been singled out by our mothers for the type of extreme abuse that we both endured. I desperately wanted to tell him it happened to me too, and to thank him for having the courage to share his story. At the time I was angry that I couldn’t contact him, but now I realize that if I get a few letters a day, he must receive hundreds, if not thousands, and there’s no way he can answer them all.

To think there may be millions of us, all damaged, searching for answers, seeking relief, scares the hell out of me...makes me physically ill. Know what’s even more depressing? Each time a child abuse survivor reaches out to me, I’m given the privileged opportunity to try to help him or her. But I can’t; I can only offer comfort. I want to help them all, to say what they need to hear, that the pain will eventually go away and one day they’ll forget all about the terrible things that happened to them when they were helpless children, but that would be a lie. In truth, trauma inflicted during our vulnerable formative years runs too deep to ever just disappear. This degree of damage, once branded into our souls, stays with us forever. Sure we can function, and with the support of loved ones, even manage to live happy, close to normal lives. Therapy can help, as well as medication, but the abuse is always there, crouching in a dark place in our minds, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

Speaking for myself and the victims who have contacted me, most of the damage comes from a fractured self-esteem, from years of being humiliated and told we were worthless. Relationships are difficult at best. Trust is iffy. Moodiness, bouts of depression, oversensitivity, and a tendency toward isolation are some of the everyday challenges we face. What we’ve all heard is true: abuse breeds abuse. But the harm is not always directed toward others. It’s my belief that most survivors are aware of this well-known stigma and fight extra hard to make sure they never mistreat another person. Instead they turn the abuse inward, which, sadly, sometimes ends up hurting those who love them, the very ones they are trying to protect. Either way it’s a lose-lose situation for everyone involved. But time heals all wounds, right? Not necessarily. Now, in my fifties, I’m still waiting for that one to play out. The older I get, the more I find myself delving back into the darkness I fought so hard to escape and revisiting my brutal childhood days.

For adult survivors of child abuse, the damage runs deep and lasts a lifetime, but for current victims, and those at risk in the future, there is hope. Our best weapon is awareness. In the past I made the mistake of not talking about my abuse, because every time I told someone they looked at me like I was either lying, or off in the head. When I was young, abuse like mine was unheard of and therefore, unbelievable. Now I realize that was the problem. The fact that there are so many adult survivors today is unfortunate, but on a positive note we have a powerful weapon in our numbers to heighten awareness just by telling our stories to as many people as we can. If you were a victim of child abuse and you want to help children at risk, you don’t have to write a book (although that would be helpful) but please consider talking about it more, blog about it, make it in-your-face heard of in any way you can.

As I write this, I can’t help but be reminded of my two year old step granddaughter, Marleigh, singing her favorite song, Let It Go, from the Disney movie, Frozen. Wide-eyed and waving her arms like she’s releasing invisible butterflies into the air, she sings, let it go, let it goooo...if only it were that easy...