I paid alot for the abuse I experienced.


The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.” —Henry Thoreau

This quote came up today in something I was reading and I tell you now, it hit a sore nerve.

In my years of protecting others from the damage he did I realized it was shame about what happened to me that kept me quiet.

I protected his secrets when I was young because he told me too. I thought he would kill me, he said he would.

I protected my Mother from feeling guilty about her part in the abuse. Not that she was in the room with him, she was not. Nor did she prostitute me out, but she didn’t see me, or notice me. She was too busy watching his drinking and running around with others. Too worried about how she was going to survive with other even younger children. I protected my Mother from the details of the horrors I experienced right under her nose.

I protected my other siblings, submitting to him when he would threaten to go get one of them. He said  he would go get one of the other kids they would do it.

To working so hard on self improvement to not only get over the damage, but make myself into a person that someone else would love and want to get to know. That the shame I felt was held in the idea that I was unlovable. That shame protected so many others, but not me.  I used my feelings of  shame to protect others from my pain and suffering, since I was so awful of a person, I would never reveal the most personal parts  of me. I didnt reveal myself because it would make things worse for me I minimized the danger and damage.  While I desperately wanted to love someone and have someone love me, I couldn’t do the things that help people love each other. Like talk, tell our life stories, share family and be open.

So, in effect I have spent my whole life thus far trying to work through the issues that come from being abused, thus far, it’s been 58 years old – 4 years (when it started)-13 years (it went on for that long)=41 years so far.

The years of self help, individual and group therapy, writing,etc things I have done to get over it have been worth it. And it’s still ongoing.



What I am doing now


What issue am I dealing with in regards to Childhood Sexual Abuse?  Dealing with the misunderstandings I grew up with and reconciling them with how things are really. I have returned  to Ohio where the abuse started and continued for 13 years. I have changed for the better. I want to see how my family has changed too. Driving around Dayton has triggered many memories.

What am I reading? Hakomi Mindfulness-Centered Somatic Psychotherapy., Weiss, Johanson, Monda, Editors.

What am I doing to grow emotionally? Practicing my slowing down and becoming aware of what feelings I am repressing.

What I am focusing on? Specifically my breathing and shoulders.

What blog post am I working on? Moving Back, dealing with grief from the loss of my husband and the grief of the family members who have died while I was gone.

Anything in the media about CSA? Athens GA. http://onlineathens.com/local-news/2016-09-18/pastor-charged-sexual-abuse-girl-shelter

Pithy sayings about CSA? Its through revealing that we can heal




Great book to read about CSA


It takes a long time to read books about Childhood Sexual Abuse, even longer to recover between those readings.  Each one has a emotional cost. Some I have read are not so great, leaving me worse off than when I started reading, others have been pretty good. Even rarer has been a great book and this is one of them.

Written by Christina Enevoldsen and named The Rescued Soul: A writing journey for the Healing of Incest and Family Betrayal.

As you know, we aren’t born with a sense of who and what we are to be. Psychologist call this a sense of self.  Ideally, we grow up and develop it through our interactions with others. Our warm and loving families help us to become a person who has physical, emotional, mental and spiritual maturity. But when we grow up in a family where childhood sexual abuse is going one, we don’t have good boundaries.  (I didn’t even know what boundaries were until a kind therapist told me.)  We are considered sexual objects with little value outside our roles as sexual victims.  This book is about recognizing how we can recreate a person who can be mature in all those ways mentioned earlier with a sense of strength and clarity.  We, through examining our past and present, gain freedom from the lies we were told.  She writes about a way to focus on developing a clear sense of ones self. Writing prompts included in the book help us to move through the muddy waters of unexamined feelings and emotional wounding that childhood sexual abuse has brought into our lives.

I can’t recommend it enough as a starting place for gathering information in how you can proceed to reclaim what was taken from you or if you were very young when the abuse happened, what never developed in the first place. Replacing the blanket of misconceptions, lies and shame with clear boundaries is a worthy starting point in healing our lives. Make you way through the book at your pace and have a voice of someone who is making her way through it too. Discover how you can find out what you want and choose to live now.

If you would like to know more you can find her work at overcomingsexualabuse.com



Identify the Victim, Identify the Perpetrator


According to my stepfather, he was the victim of my sexual abuse. In his way of thinking, he wasn’t responsible for what happened between us.

He said over and over to me “See how much you want me Kimmy”, “See what you make my dick do Sissy” and “I can’t help myself, Sissy, you are so beautiful.” To him, I wanted him. He would do things to make sure I was sexually excited and then tell me ” See how much you want me?”

Because he had said things like this to me for years, I thought it was my idea to have sex with him. This was one of the reasons I felt guilty when I told, I thought I was telling on myself.

It was the summer of 1975 when I told Mom Jack and I had been sleeping together. I sat in a folding lawn chair in the backyard. My body felt heavy like I wasn’t going to be strong enough to hold myself up. I felt it everywhere. I was breathing shallowly, feeling slightly dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

When I said, “Jack and I had been sleeping together”… (wrong I know now). I remember thinking I would be in so much trouble because I had wanted to do all those bad things. Somehow at the age of 4, I had the idea to have oral sex with a grown man, somehow, it was my idea, I felt like I was telling on myself for having done something wrong.

It was disastrous telling her, she responded by asking was there anyone else who knew. I said yes, my uncles, cause Jack had tried to get them to have sex with me. So she left to talk to them about what happened. That was it. No nothing else.

Later Jack came home and asked where she was. He told me to get the kids in bed, so I climbed in bed with my little sisters, while the boys got in bed in their room.

We all fell asleep. Later I woke up with Jack and Mom arguing in the kitchen, Mom saying “why would she say something like that?”

He responded with I don’t know, maybe she didn’t want to do the dishes anymore.

They were back and forth for the longest time while I drifted off again. There was a little bit of hurt when he said what I had told was being reduced to something so petty as not wanting to do dishes.

Later, he complained to me about how I had upset my Mom and gotten him in trouble.

So when I look back on this I realize that I thought I was the problem, I caused him to do what he had done for years. It took years for me to correct my own thinking. I didn’t cause him to do anything, He did it. He was the perpetrator, he was the criminal, I was a child, I know now how I had to distort my own thinking in an effort to cope with the things he did to me and how I tried to make sense of it in my young child mind.

And recovery takes so long because there is so much sorting out to be done. Because I was so young, I didn’t have a basis for what was wrong or right. And my whole childhood was built around those lies he told me.

Now I can identify that I am the victim, he was the perpetrator of a series of crimes. Not just to me, but my whole family.

Not Talking About Childhood Abuse


I don’t want to talk about being abused because of the way it makes me feel when I talk about it.  But unless I do, I suffer. There are strange things that come out of my unconscious. Suppressed feelings. Things that come to my attention from weird accidents, body reactions that I can’t explain, numbness and  inappropriate actions/behaviors/words that seem to come out of nowhere.

When I was younger, teens and twenties, I didn’t want people to know how damaged I was from what happened to me, so I hid it. Then as I grew older I thought, I should tell some of them, but not everybody I met. Just people I thought should know why I was acting like I did. Those people could benefit from explanation.

Now I tell people when I want them to know me, people who seem compassionate, loving, sensitive and genuinely interested in me.

The rest I tell through writing.

Through writing I also add to all the other voices of people who have been abused like me. Who are bravely telling their stories. Through writing and speaking publicly. As a collective we can start a movement to eradicate Childhood Sexual Abuse as a experience children have.

But the pain of losing my husband has brought up unresolved pain from CSA to the surface.

It makes me think of Rod Stewart singing

I can tell by your eyes that you’ve probably been cryin’ forever
And the stars in the sky don’t mean nothin’ to you, they’re a mirror
I don’t want to talk about it, how you broke my heart
If I stay here just a little bit longer
If I stay here, won’t you listen to my heart, whoa, my heart?

Now I am back to not wanting to talk about it,

But its still on my mind.

And it still poisons my life.

Instead of writing 


I’m eating this cake I made last week. Normally there wouldn’t be any cake left by now but… It didn’t turn out right because I used the wrong flour. Instead of using White Lily Self Rising flour, (responsible for tender baked goods because of the low protein soft wheat they use to make their flour) I used Bread flour ( a high protein hard winter wheat with no self rising to be found).  The difference is light fluffy airy chocolate goodness vs brownie thick dense fudgy goodness. See picture below for fudgy, thick dense cake I am eating a bite at a time.  

 Childhood Sexual Abuse is like putting the wrong flour into a cake. It’s very texture is so different even though it looks like it could be just fine. But it’s the insides where the differences really show.  I’m learning to love my insides even though they are not what a cake could be. But it’s my cake. Thick, dense, brownie like and intensely flavored.