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May 17, 2009, 10:26 AM
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{{{ Deli }}}
Survivors of abuse act out in sexual ways because it's a familiar, learned behavior. Remember, kids look to adults as their role models.
It doesn't matter at what age the acting out starts. For some it begins very early, for some it's delayed, for some it doesn't happen at all but shows up elsewhere in their adult relationships.
It's hard not to "punish" ourselves. We are pissed off and someone should be punished, but who? How? I think sometimes it's just easier to turn that anger on ourselves. We hang onto our guilt and shame because we are in control of it.
We can tell you a million times that it's not your fault, but I think this is something that only comes to us when we are ready to start letting go. It will click with you in time. It happened to me one day while getting a haircut. It was such an eye-opening moment that I wrote about it.
OLD FRIENDS "How old is she?" I asked the mother of the little girl who was practicing her cheerleading routine in front of the mirror. I was enjoying her twirls and jumps while I waited to get my hair cut.
"Oh, she's eleven," the woman smiled. I smiled back but had stopped breathing.
Eleven? She looked so young. So childlike. So innocent.
I couldn't take my eyes off her yet I couldn't look away. It was at that moment I finally "heard" what my therapist had been trying to tell me for years. I was a child. It wasn't my fault. I was only two-four-six-eight-ten. Pick one.
All the years of self-blame, shame and anger suddenly turned into a swirling mass of confusion and I felt dizzy and detached. I choked back tears. I always thought I was so much older then. I'd convinced myself that I wanted it. Dismissed it as no big deal. After all, I was old enough to know better for chrissakes, get over it.
Maybe I felt older because I'd started smoking cigarettes soon after my father died. I was ten. Two years later I was drinking alcohol and graduated to smoking marijuana at thirteen. Shoplifting, skipping school, lying. All these things made me older. Made me tougher. No one could hurt me if I built a moat around me and filled it with a cocky attitude.
I left the hairdressers and drove straight to the library. I wanted to see what life was like for kids back then. What other things existed besides being fatherless in a house that reeked of addicts? What should I have been doing at age eleven instead of being abused by a drunken sailor on shore leave?
I grabbed a stack of books about the sixties and made my way over to a table. I flipped through one about vintage toys and the gray mist that had clouded my memories began to lift. And there they were, pictures of my beloved dolls that I'd gotten rid of one day out of the clear blue because I thought I was too old to play with them. I wonder now if that move was symbolic. If I was throwing my self away.
My heart warmed as my fingers traced the faces of my old friends. Friends that I had told my deepest secrets to. Friends that let me cry. Friends that I loved with all my heart.
I set about searching for those friends and, thanks to eBay, I own most of them again. They help remind me that I wasn't bad, it wasn't my fault and I really was just a little kid. They help remind me that I am capable of loving. With each old friend I bring home, I take one more step on the path to healing that lost little girl.
SJN © 2004
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