Healing Through Therapy: Sexual Abuse Recovery

My nightmares as a child were nothing compared to my reality. Every day of my life I walked through the landscape of a dark and dreadful dream. But the monster that lurked behind my doors and around corners was made of flesh and blood and not merely temporary and dissipating works of my imagination. When the dawn would come and I opened my eyes to greet the light, those monsters did not disappear. They took up residence in the shadows of my home. They took on the form of a man, my own father, who was supposed to snatch those same terrifying dreams away and replace them with love and reassurance.

Reality became my worst nightmare, stuck in the middle of it, unable to run. My heart would pound, my veins surged with adrenaline urging me to flee the terror, but my body would remain frozen in time. I could not move, I could not speak, I could not scream. I was physically chained to his unrelenting brutality.

"Splitting" is the term used to define an out of body experience, realized by numerous individuals who suffer abuse as children. For me, trapped in this nightmare, splitting became a way to disassociate from the painful reality of my own father inflicting unspeakable acts upon me. I have no recollection of how I learned to perform this feat, but when reality became skewed and unbearable, I was able to click out and view his acts from a safe distance away from my physical body. Though I remained physically powerless against his actions, I found a sense of power in the ability to find some mental form of escape in the midst of his abuse.

Over time, the splitting became such a natural habit that I would find myself using it in life whenever I felt even remotely threatened. All it would take was a certain smell, a look that I would interpret as dangerous, or a sound somewhere in the distance. This stimulus was not directly connected to my father in any way with the exception of reminding me of some aspect of his actions. This defense mechanism became so ingrained and comfortable, that I often chose it as my reality, in order to make it through the day. Amazingly, I could maneuver my physical body through any task with precision, look as if I was completely engrossed in a conversation and even make love with the interjection of all appropriate comments and moves. But I was never really present. My spirit moved on in a soft adagio of suffering, terrified of connecting for too long with my physical body, fearing that if it stayed it might be snatched away once again by the nocturnal scavenger of souls.

As a child I also developed the ability to numb my senses. Growing up numb was not how it should have been but it became the natural response after being violated by touch at the stage in my life when my senses should have been allowed to run rampant. I look at little children now and I feel very sad at all the pure joy I missed out on as a child. They so freely touch, taste and smell everything that surrounds them without abandon; their natural way of learning how this mysterious world operates. Most children are able to blend emotion with sensation and express their pleasure of simple things without fear. Children feel. Children express what they feel. Children truly live in the present moment.

As an adult I realized a deep need and desire to heal this area in my life and I began to search for ways in which to accomplish this task which was a monumental one indeed. First there was the issue of trust. I trusted very few human beings in this world so how could I ever open up to someone about the abuse? Then there was the issue of all those emotions that I had shoved deep into the dark box and my fear of losing control if that box was opened. But the urge persisted since I couldn't help but view myself as a shuffling corpse that merely served to house an untrusting spirit that had been severed from any connection with physical reality. Something inside began to break through and push me to realize my need to heal and to coax my spirit back into harmony with my physical being. I knew I was tired of struggling and feeling alone but I wasn't sure what to feel, where to feel it, or who to feel it with. My boundaries and realities were skewed from years of torment. I was timid and uncertain of the rules.

Fortunately my healing began with the discovery of a wonderful therapist. Before our first appointment I wrote her a letter to describe my fears of the process. I didn't have to say a single word the day I entered her office. She immediately opened her arms to me and surrounded me with the safest and most reassuring hug that I had experienced in my life. It did take me a period of time to build the trust I needed to reveal all the pain that I had locked inside for so many years, but every session was filled with kind words of encouragement and validation which allowed me to slowly remove the lid of that box in a very safe place.

After a year and a half of facing the demons I realized that it was time for me to move out into the world in order to learn to trust it fully. It was like being born again. Becoming the child with that wide-eyed sense of wonder, eager to touch, taste and smell the world with a new sense of freedom. Although my steps were cautious, not unlike the babe testing out the ability to walk on those wobbly little legs, therapy had given me the foundation. It provided me with a safe environment to work through the past that had kept me captive for so many years, and helped me to develop a new fresh view; all in the world was not evil and vile. There are safe and loving people out here. I was now able to walk through my days a lot more in the present and could truly feel the joy of every new experience that I chose to create. I found power, self-esteem, and a new love of self. I could cry if something moved me, I could laugh with abandon when something humored me, I could express feelings for the beauty that surrounded me. I could finally feel and that was a personal miracle.

Learning to trust and to continue to remain with at least one foot in the present and to feel and express my emotions have been the ultimate challenges of my recovery. The memories never leave completely but are now just distant holograms etched within my neurons that I can choose to face or chase away whenever they show their ugly faces. I now have the power to control them. I now make every effort to place myself in a safe environment, surrounded by a quilt of safe and gentle people. Of course there are occasional moments when I catch myself clicking out and I have to pose the question "why?" When I find the stimuli that encouraged my escape, I make a strong point of repeating to myself, "I am safe, I am here now and I am loved". And I know now beyond a doubt that I am not alone.