I walked slowly home from school in the gray, slushy street. I was sweating, even though it was 12 degrees outside. My stomach felt like there were little hamsters in it fighting, and my throat was so tight. It felt like someone was cutting off my air. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, and my tears were freezing before they could fall. My hands were pulling at the loose strings on my coat. Mommy would be at work by now. As I raised my head, there he stood on the porch, just waiting and smiling at the neighbors. No one would know by looking at him, what was going on behind closed doors. Being raped by my mother’s boyfriend became the defining event in my life. It shaped how I viewed myself, life, men, and relationships.
I walked in the door and fixed my dinner. It was Chef Boyardee and a toasted English Muffin with peanut butter. I wasn’t really hungry, but it was all I could think of to buy myself a little more time. As I finished eating and putting my dishes in the sink, He came into the room. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and said that it was bath time. I felt the warmth of urine running down my leg and felt as if I couldn’t breathe. I told him that I didn’t feel well, hoping that he would have some sympathy, and allow me out of my “chores.” He smiled as he looked at me, and said “Well, how about I give you a nice, hot, bubble bath tonight.” I knew there was no use in arguing. I slowly shuffled my feet to the cramped bathroom, off of the kitchen.
Russ, my mother’s boyfriend, started grooming me at the age of seven. Russ liked to have the attention of females at all times. While mommy was at work, it was my job to fill in for her. This meant I had to pour his drinks, fix his snacks, listen to his stories and we always ended with “cuddle time.”
We always started with a bath. He liked when I washed him. Then we would go to his and mommy’s bed and we played house. He was the husband and I was the wife. While mommy was at work, I was his special girl.
Russ taught me to behave the way a man expected. He taught me that my value lied in the apex of my thighs. From him, I learned what men value most. A man values a woman who cooks, cleans and offers her body in degrading and painful ways. A woman was to be submissive in all things. I had nothing else to offer, nothing of worth. If I did what he wanted, and was a good girl, I might get a special treat. Sometimes I got to stay up late and watch Three’s Company or had a special snack or a small new toy. He couldn’t give me too much because mommy would get jealous. He would tell me, “Mommy thinks she’s my special girl and she will be very angry with you if she knows you’re my real special girl.”
Russ never had to threaten me not to tell. It was never verbalized at all. The shame of my own body’s responses kept me quiet. He would tuck me into my bed right before mommy got home and the scent of our secret would still be hovering in the air, like a heavy, dark cloud.
What he did to me was painful. What was more painful was what I did with it in my head. I truly believed that my value was in my body and how much pleasure I could bring a man. I learned to do everything just the way he liked. When I did this, he finished much faster. I devalued myself long after he stopped. I told myself that I had nothing to offer, and I based my self-worth on the quality of men I could get into bed. The more money they had, the better looking they were, and the higher their social standing, meant that I was worthy.
I viewed all men as untrustworthy and I knew all I had to do to please a man was give him my body on demand. I became very promiscuous. My thinking was that if I gave away sex freely, no one would ever have the power to take it from me again. Somewhere along the way, I realized that when a man is having sex, he is at his most vulnerable. I would get men into bed because seeing them vulnerable, made me feel powerful. I liked that feeling.
I also became a drug addict. I discovered that drugs and alcohol numbed the pain and the rage I felt inside. It gave me a brief reprieve from the dirtiness, guilt, and shame. I never knew what a healthy or complete relationship looked like.
After I had my first daughter, I left her father so that I could protect her. In my mind, all men were predators. I wanted my daughters to know how much they were worth. Because of the lies I told myself, I had a mistaken perception of relationships between men and women. I taught my daughters how to manipulate men and ensure that they remain emotionally unavailable to any man that comes along. I taught them to take money and gifts from men. The rule is “Never do anything for nothing.” If a man can’t financially keep them up and spoil them, my daughters need to cut them loose. The men should always know that they are inferior and that women are in charge. I don’t allow men to get close to me and I use them for what I want, financially, sexually and some companionship. I then hurt them before they can hurt me. I lie first, cheat first and end the relationship first. I notice my daughter’s following the same patterns.
I am now trying to change and allow intimacy with people in my life and I hope that my daughter’s can learn that from me as well.
Through the lies I told myself, I have failed to model healthy relationships for my daughters and my son. Something that happened to me 30 years ago still affects my children today. That is the true tragedy of child abuse. Men are not all powerful, and human beings, male or female, have so much more to offer than their bodies or what they can offer sexually or financially. I have learned that what happened to me was not my fault and I received faulty information from a very sick man.
Years later, after I was reunited with my mother, I learned that she placed me in foster care to keep me safe. Financially, she was dependent on him for survival and the only other thing she knew to do was to remove me from the home.
The main lesson I learned, stemming from this event, is that I received false information and made decisions based on lies and passed that misinformation to my children. I perpetuated a cycle. It has taken 38 years to break the cycle of my thinking. I have been a prisoner in my own mind and it is taking a lot of work to retrain my thinking and perceptions.
Today, I have self-respect, integrity and dignity. What I have learned is that it’s an inside job. As long as I am okay with myself, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. I confused self-esteem with ego. The more I acted on ego, the lower my self-esteem dropped. I don’t have to believe those lies today.
