Parenting as a Survivor; Sadness and Loss

This is the hardest and saddest post I've ever written.

Baby

I was so happy finding out I was to be a dad; completely over the moon; something I had always thought I wouldn't do. As any parent to be, I had nerves and anxiety, but my past abuse didn't matter when Yvonne was carrying our child.

For many of the survivors I have worked with, being a parent is full of ambivalence and fear. Some battle with the need to protect their own children, while not wanting to upset them in the slightest. Some survivors find it difficult to relate to the role of parenting; after all what blueprint do they have to work from? If you're a parent, where did you learn your parenting from? If the guidance you have been given is fundamentally flawed through abuse, what do you use? Many survivors have huge confusion over the necessary and appropriate boundaries to give a child. 

The reality was a large number of survivors I have been involved with, take the decision not to have children at all; they either feel they can't be good enough parents or don't want to bring another child into the world to suffer. Please re-read that sentence and pause for a moment; just how sad is that? Through being a victim of a crime in childhood, they do not feel good enough to be a parent or view the world as so bad, they don't want to bring another human being into it.

I had had years of support and counselling and was running workshops on Recovery, I thought I had looked at everything and was done with my own work. Out of the blue my world was rocked, I discovered my own recovery was not complete; the hardest and saddest part was still to come. Being a parent meant I was responsible for these 2 vulnerable children, I felt inadequate, could I look after them, keep them safe, when I hadn't even manged to do it for myself?

 

Once again, my abuser was able to reach out and hurt me and influence my life. Being a parent had made me vulnerable and, as with my father, it was through a relationship with someone else, that he managed to get through.

Bathtime: Bubbles, Fun and Laughter?

A parents involvement with their child at bath time should be bubbles, fun and laughter. For me it was fear, anxiety and horror. It meant flashbacks of the abuse and what he did to me in the bath and the photos he took. I tried, but I never managed to bath my own children, it was too painful.

I can't describe how sad this makes me feel, I actually have tears writing this; he actually affected my relationship with my children; that is something I cannot forgive him for. I was still paying the price for being a victim of abuse.

Looking at my own children enjoying their childhood and innocence and then going to work and hearing stories of people abusing children the same age as my own, began to take it's toll. As my children grew up and became closer to the age I was when the abuse started, I started realising just how little and innocent I was when the abuse took place.

I then had to face yet another loss; the loss of enjoyment in watching and experiencing my children grow up without the ever invasive shadow of my own abuse impacting on the experience.

It was at this time, I knew I needed to break from survivor work for a while.

From Victim to Survivor

Survivor as Abuser Myth

“The victim to victimizer theory of sexual abuse receives repeated attention in the professional and popular literature.

It appears that in the mind of the public and unfortunately in the minds of some professionals, all offenders are victims and being a victim is a direct cause of sexual abuse.” Murphy and Smith, 1996

Child Sexual Abuse Perpetrators who report being sexually abused as children typically range from 20-30%.(Hanson & Slater, 1988; Freund, Watson & Dickey, 1990; Murphy & Smith, 1996)  

Contrary to popular belief the majority of CSA Perpetrators have not been sexually abused.

“Childhood Sexual Abuse” An Evidence Based Perspective 
(Fergusson & Mullen, Sage 1999)

The counselling looked at every aspect of my life and it became clearer and clearer to me that my identity and the way I lived my life was as a victim. I was still living with the fear of being abused and in fear of my abuser.

I came to realise that the abuse had fundamentally distorted my development as a person; I had grown up as someone who needed to protect themselves from, rather than enjoy, the world. The abuse meant I saw people and situations firstly as potential threats, I had grown up being always hyper-vigilant and constantly on the defensive. Living this way was exhausting.

The longer the counselling went on the angrier I became, the sense of injustice and wrong that was done to me finally surfaced.

The next stage was, perhaps, the beginning of the end of the process.

I had given back the responsibility of the abuse and no longer felt shame or guilt over what had been done to me, I had accepted and now knew that what he did was abuse and was wrong, I even had the embers of self-worth. What came next was to look at loss and to grieve for what I had lost and for what might have been.  

It took some time for me to gather the courage to even begin to think about what the abuse had cost me. Below are just some of the issues I needed to acknowledge and grieve over:

• Loss of childhood
• Loss of innocence
• Loss of naivety
• Loss of opportunities for happy memories
• Loss of some memory
• Loss of opportunity to develop a natural curiosity about the world
• Loss of opportunity to enjoy the world, rather than fear it
• Loss of healthy social interaction without suspicion and fear
• Loss of nurturing relationship with self
• Loss of innate Self-trust
• Loss of innate Self-belief
• Loss of innate Self-worth 
• Loss of opportunity to develop my sexuality naturally
• Loss of relationships, including that of my father
• Loss of time and energy spent on the abuse, rather than on positive things 
• Loss of education and improved work prospects
• Loss of opportunities 

This was a period of huge sadness. I cried a great deal. I grieved.

How could I get all these losses back? The simple answer; I couldn't; I had to let them go. 

I also came to the conclusion that my recovery could not be based on regaining the specifics of what I had lost, but to reclaim the essence of them.

I could and would build my self-worth, self-trust, self-belief
I could and would build better and healthier relationships for myself
I could and would go back to college and educate myself
I could and would make new opportunities for myself
I could and would learn to enjoy the world and be less fearful.

I was moving on from being a victim of abuse to a survivor.

I began to think about life after the counselling and what I could do. Throughout my life people had seemed to trust me and I was a regular confidante for family and friends. My abuser had given the reason for abusing me as being too nice and too caring. Perhaps, I thought, I could also reclaim these qualities and use them in a positive way to help others overcome the issues they faced, I talked this through with my counsellor, who agreed.

I took the decision to start training as a therapist.

The Counselling

"Research continues to indicate a concerning number of children and youth, between 60–80%, withhold disclosure until adulthood suggesting that many children endure prolonged victimization or never receive necessary intervention."  Ramona Alaggia, 2010.

My plan of 6 weeks of counselling, fell apart very quickly.

It was only when someone had been willing to listen to me that I realised just how much I needed to talk. The first 6 weeks flashed by and we had the review; both my counsellor and myself agreed to continue for as long as I required.

I cannot stress enough just how important it was to my recovery to be in control of how long I needed. So often now counselling is time limited, often JUST 6 weeks. This approach is so dis-empowering, immediately the survivor has the control taken from them and they are once again faced with little or no choice and control. 

I know resources are limited, but to ask victims of abuse to open up and reach some level of resolution with such limited interaction is almost always asking too much. I also know that many services are unable to offer longer due to rationing, but there must be a better way. I am also often puzzled why people come up with arbitrary number of weeks, why 6, 10 or 12 weeks? Recovery for survivors MUST be led by them, recovery is about EMPOWERMENT and that means giving the victim CHOICE, CONTROL and POWER over their own future.

I was warned by my counsellor that things often get worse before they get better during the process and he was right. Revisiting the abuse opened me up more than I could have ever imagined.

Flashbacks increased. For those of you who are unaware, flashbacks are not just recalling memories, it's much more like reliving them, you are not in the present, but back in the actual abuse. I also recovered more memories of being violated and that indecent photos had been taken of me. How had these been used? Who had seen them? Where were they shown? Just how much more there was to come I just did not know or if I could cope.

The old defence mechanisms started to kick in; minimizing the abuse and it's effects. I tried to rationalise the past; "I had deserved what had happened", but my counsellor would not relent; he threw challenge after challenge at me. "What would I say to another victim who had said the same thing?"..."Why then am I saying something different to myself?".

What became clear was that my abuse and therefore my abuser was still in control of my life and that I was still living in fear and as a victim.

I can recall very easily a piece of homework I was given:

"I want you to do something nice for yourself", the Counsellor said. 
"Okay, I can do that", my reply.
"...now the tricky part..", my Counsellor continued"...not because I've asked you, but just because you're worth it and for no other reason." 

I went back the following week having  been unable to do it. I didn't deserve anything, simply for the reason I felt worthless and was full of self loathing; I even despised the child I had been and thought of him as pathetic and weak.

I desperately needed to give back the responsibility and the blame to the abuser. The guilt I had carried for the abuse was not mine, it was his. The shame I had been carrying for all these years, was not mine it was his .

As this process went on, the anger at being burdened with these issues and the injustice grew, I struggled with these feelings, they seemed overwhelming. In the past I had released or suppressed them with drinking/drugs or self-harming, but I was no longer willing to use these strategies and I wanted and needed to face these demons.

I didn't realise it, but thanks to the the counselling, I was beginning to gain self-worth for the first time. I hadn't deserved the abuse; what was done to me, was wrong. 

My counsellor helped me understand that the "little me", the abused child, had done the very best he could at the time, with what he had and that rather than hate him, he needed my love and understanding. "What would you say to him now, if you had him standing in front of you?", my Counsellor asked. I collapsed into tears of sadness and pride at the courage that little boy had shown; protecting his own Mother, Father and family from the truth and in carrying the burden of the abuse all on his own, for so long.

This was a time of great confusion, all the old messages and lies I had been living with no longer rang true. What was I left with? It challenged my actual identity; if I was no longer going to be a victim of abuse, who was I?   

The Beginning of my Recovery

So there I was, a complete mess; emotionally, physically and mentally shot. The relationship I was in with my then girlfriend (now my wife) was falling apart.

But, it's the littlest things at the most unexpected times that can often start the change. In my case, it was a puppy called Milly.

Me and Milly, the puppy that saved my life

I was living in a squat on my own, I could come and go as I pleased, get as high, drunk or out of my head as I wanted and it didn't matter to anyone else. But, as soon as I had Milly it all changed, something outside of me needed me, was reliant on me, depended on me and I couldn't let her down.

Milly was a rescue pup, if I didn't take her, I was told she would have been "taken care of" whatever that meant. She was a nervous wreck, the runt of the litter and the last of the pups to be homed and was living in a broom cupboard. If you raised your voice she would hide under the table or behind a chair. From the moment I took her we were nearly always together for the next 14 years.

I couldn't kick the drink, drugs or destructive lifestyle for myself, but I needed to do it for her. I simply couldn't neglect her. I wasn't the perfect owner by any means and made mistakes and let her down at the beginning, but she just kept loving me and slowly over time, I kicked the drugs and then the alcohol.

Even though things had improved, I was still battling the mental illness and depression. I knew, despite how the professionals had treated me the root cause of the issues was the abuse. One evening the BBC transmitted a programme on abuse and there was a helpline you could call after the show. The next day when everyone was out, I picked up the phone and got through to a woman who ran a group in North London. I spoke for about 3 minutes and she spoke for about 40 about her abuse. I was perfect for her group she told me. I never went.

I was now driven to overcome the abuse, I went into Foyles bookshop and bought the book "Victims No Longer", read it from cover to cover and then reread it. It seemed I was finally on the right track and that book was a significant milestone in helping me in my recovery. I kept it by my bedside and was constantly dipping in and out of it.

The book that started the change

I tried to talk to my mother and girlfriend about the abuse, but they said it was upsetting me and that I should stop. If a TV programme came on that had abuse in it my girlfriend would turn it over. I was becoming increasingly frustrated with their efforts to protect me from the pain. I needed to feel it, I needed to express it. I knew they meant well and were thinking of me,  but it wasn't helping.

One of the tactics used by my abuser was making me feel responsible for protecting my family, "they wouldn't understand our special love" he had told me, "you would only upset them if you told them, so you must kept it secret". So from the age of 8 I had been groomed and given the burden of protecting others by carrying the responsibility of keeping quiet about the experience. 

Again, the abuser was being proven right; if I dared mention the abuse those around me were getting upset, so once more I put the lid on. This time the lid just would not stay in place, I had opened the box and it was staying off. Again, I looked for help, but this time with dramatic effect.

Legacy of Abuse

Health Issues Those who have experienced serious childhood trauma such as physical, emotional or sexual abuse may have twice the rate of cancer, heart disease and chronic bronchitis  than those who have not had such trauma. Dr Ron Acierno, Behavioural Medicine, 1997: 23 (2) pp53-64

Self Harm 79% of people who self-harmed had histories of childhood trauma. Van der Kolk et al. 1991

Suicide Adults who experienced childhood abuse are 12 times more likely to attempt suicide than those who did not. Vincent Fellitti & Robert Anda, “Adverse Childhood Experiences”, American Journal of Preventative Medicine, 1998: 14 pp245-258

 
People often ask me "Didn't your Mum and Dad know about the truancy or the drinking or drug taking?" One skill that abuse gives you is the ability to keep secrets and hide feelings; I had hidden sexual abuse from 8 years of age, hiding the drinking, drugs, truancy and mental illness was a doddle. I had even learnt how to forge letters; no one had ever picked up on the forged letters and signatures to and from school!

The drinking had begun in my mid-teens during the truancy and I had some good times; I think I must have been among the top tipsy visitors to the free museums in London and regularly visited the British, Geffrye and London. I would spend hours walking around central London and if I had chosen a career as a Black Taxi Cab Driver I would have had a head start with "The Knowledge!"

In my previous update, I told how I had tried to get help from the NHS and had been totally let down, now I sought help from another source. 

My family had always been Church goers, in fact my brother, who I'm very proud of and close to, is a Minister and Team Leader in the Midlands. Surely, I thought I would get some resolution and understanding of the abuse through the church. I had myself been going regularly for several years and had a period of relative stability, I had even managed to get to college and clawed some "O" levels together.  Before long, the "old demons" began playing their mind games again. This time I would seek help from the Church rather than the health service, I expected more empathy and understanding than previously experienced.

With a huge amount of fear I disclosed my abuse to a senior Minister, his angry response..."You're making too much of it, you need to pull your socks up!"....almost word for word the same as the GP. My second attempt to a female minister, rare at that time, and her officious response; "I think you're making excuses for your behaviour and making far too much of it".

Again, my abusers words came back to me, "...no one will believe you, you're making too much of it" and once again, he had been proven correct. Well, if he had abused me because I was too nice and what he had said before was true it was time to change. So I thought, out with the nice guy and trying to seek help, instead I became the archetypal angry young man; resentful, fearful and looked for refuge in drinking and drug taking.

It was shortly after this that my father was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. 

Up until the abuse I had been my father's shadow and had been inseparable from him. One of the worst results of the abuse for me was the irreversible damage it did to my relationship with my father. It began with my utter shock and disbelief that neither my father nor mother could see what was happening and come to my rescue. Surely they were my protectors and should have known and be able to see what was happening week in, week out, when I was sent to stay with the the abuser each weekend. The second result, and perhaps worst, was when I first disclosed to my family.

One evening I crept into my older brothers bedroom and told him I had a secret and that he couldn't tell anyone.  As soon as I had finished telling him what was happening, he said he had to tell, he did exactly what I had prayed and hoped for. We went to my mother, who said we needed to tell my father. We were a traditional family and dad was the head of our household.

I was a nervous wreck, shaking and quivering, I told my dad what had happened. "Are you sure?" he asked, "You must be mistaken, ***** wouldn't possibly do something like that". My world collapsed, never before or since, even during the very worst of the abuse, had I felt so alone and abandoned. At that one moment my relationship with my father was changed forever and we would only really bridge that gulf on his deathbed...but, even so, I am so thankful we did.

It would take me years of therapy and also becoming a father myself to understand why my dad had responded the way he did. The abuser, had not just sexually abused me, he had abused my father's trust, my mother and father, my family and all those who placed faith in him. I can now understand and appreciate that the last thing you want to believe and hear is that your child has been sexually abused. You would prefer to think the child had simply made a mistake, you would prefer to believe the trust you had placed in another person to take care of your child had not been cruelly abused and your own judgement of a person who claimed to be a dear friend was correctly placed.

Now the drinking and drug taking became out of control and by my early twenties I was both an alcoholic and drug addict caught up in a vicious spiral of uppers and downers.  I would take speed to get me up in the morning and to the pub. The added bonus of speed  meant I could drink even more - the down side, I couldn't sleep and so needed to take other drugs to sedate me. This cycle went on and on for several years damaging both my mental and physical health. I became more paranoid, aggressive and had dramatic mood swings, I developed major kidney pain, heart palpitations and lost a huge amount of weight. 

At the height of my drinking and drug taking

I went to the doctor who sent me for an ECG and echo-graph of my heart, the nurse asked me if I was an athlete as I had an enlarged heart muscle which was usually found in high performance athletes. In fact it was a result of taking the speed for so long and putting so much strain on my heart.

The self-harming that had begun during the actual abuse escalated dramatically during my teens. It had begun with head and face butting walls, I now punched walls and objects and  broke a knuckle. At that time I also cut myself and to this day I do not sun bathe, I avoid swimming and taking my shirt off in public due to the scars I have on my stomach. I began to put myself into more and more potentially dangerous situations in attempts to self-destruct.

My drinking and drug taking was out of control and I was on a course of destruction that was clearly the result of the abuse, I had sought help numerous times and been either refused, ridiculed or dismissed as self-indulgent or attention seeking. I did not know where to turn or what to do, I had finally resigned myself to living with the guilt, the shame and self-loathing that was my life.

Finally, something changed....