Heavy Stuff...

Warning, this post contains emotional triggers for anyone who has experienced or witnessed abuse...

I'm trying.

I'm learning that it is helpful to open up and share my current or past experiences, and that it helps me to connect with others on another level that I have been avoiding so far.

Last night I had to attend a class on recognizing and reporting abuse and neglect for my job(preschool teacher). And it was so hard for me. The guy teaching the class was a former police officer-turned gym teacher and he really wanted to focus on the importance of reporting when we might see some of those signs of abuse. He had pictures....and first hand accounts of what was done to these children... The entire time I sat there with the feeling like someone was clenching my heart.

At the beginning of the class he was talking about statistics and what types of abuse are most prevalent. And when he mentioned sexual abuse he said that 5% of the cases reported were sexual abuse but then commented about how the numbers that we get for sexual abuse will never be right. And why? I knew instantly when he asked why. Because no one talks about it.

No one talks about it!

It's time to change that.

I was sexually abused as a teenager. I was molested by a family member for over a year. I won't name names because many of you know my family personally and I don't want to ruin this persons life, because I really hope that they have turned their life around...(I will only say that it was not my father. I wouldn't want anyone to assume it was my dad. My dad is the most honest, hardworking, diligent man I know)

When the abuse first started, I thought it was okay. I let it happen for months. I don't know exactly when I began to know that it wasn't okay, I just know that I began doing little things to try to protect myself from him. I would lock my door when he was in the house. When he would sit by me and try to touch me-even just putting his hand on my arm or leg-I started fighting back. I stopped biting my nails so that they would be long enough to dig into his arm anytime he touched me. Eventually it stopped- I'm not even sure why- but it still seemed to hang over me. To bind up my insides until I didn't really feel anything.

Unfortunately, he went to the same school as me, and we had a class together. So when I got to High School, I switched electives from Band to Choir so I wouldn't have to be in the same class as him. That only worked for a year though, because he switched the next year too. My mom didn't understand why all of a sudden I didn't want to do the same things anymore. Anytime I would complain about him doing the same extra curricular activities as me she would say things like, "Why don't you guys get along any more? you used to be so close". And it would tear me up inside. I felt like I couldn't get away from him. And I felt like I couldn't tell her what was really going on. What if she didn't believe me? What if she did? Would I tear our family apart?

So, I kept it to myself.

And it ate me up inside.

I didn't recognize it at the time, but I was seriously depressed. Luckily, at the time I had a few pretty good friends (who, although they didn't know what was going on, I knew they would support me if I ever did tell them) who kept me afloat for a while.

Then we moved.

My Junior year of High School was the hardest for me. I had severe social anxiety which made it difficult for me to make friends, plus the depression, and it just kind of snowballed. My family doesn't know it, but I was actually suicidal for several months during that time. Not in the "I actively want to kill myself" way, but in the "I wish I could just not wake up and this would all be over" kind of way. Eventually I was able to make a small group of friends, even my first boyfriend, and that helped to get me through the transition.

After we moved to South Dakota is when I feel like I slowly started to improve. I was away from my abuser, I was able to find a good group of friends, and pursue my own interests without that cloud constantly hanging over me. But as I continued to date, I slowly realized that whomever I married would need to know about all of this emotional baggage I was bringing with me. So, I told Aaron. The first person I had ever fully told about what had happened to me. He encouraged me to talk with my Bishop and tell my mom what had been going on.

And when I finally did, I was blown over. I told my mom what had happened, and she told me about the abuse that she had witnessed her own family member go through. She was way more understanding than I had ever expected her to be. I had no idea! And why? Because we don't talk about it.

I always hear the statistics that one in four women is sexually assaulted in their life. Do you realize what that means???

That group of friends that you hang out with? Odds are at least one of them has experienced some kind of sexual assault. Odds are I have met numerous women who have experienced sexual assault, and I had no idea!

It saddens me.

What I would give to just have known that someone understands what I went through.

Why do we keep to ourselves? What is gained by hiding it? I can tell you what's gained- more lives ruined.

I found out after I had talked with my Bishop and my mom, that this family member had actually molested several girls. Was I the first one? I know I wasn't the last. Could I have prevented them if I had just spoken up? Would my family member have gotten the help he needed earlier if I had said something? I don't know...and sometimes the guilt still keeps me up at night.

But the one thing I do know, if I ever found out that one of my girls had been assaulted and they didn't know that I was a safe place. Not only a safe place, but that I would understand in a way that no one else could. That I could not only sympathize with their situation, but I could empathize because I have been there...that's a guilt that I don't know if I could get over.

So, here it is.

If you have had anything happen to you, and you need to talk, I hope you find someone you trust to open up to. I hope we can all learn that sharing our pain can help to ease our pain. I hope that as a society we can begin to share more, trust more, and love more.

First steps are important, so hopefully this was a first step towards something.