Krista’s Mom
Thursday’s entry was written by Krista. Today’s entry is written by Krista’s mom.
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Where to begin–nowhere is there a good place. My judgment of people was way off back then (too trusting can be a bad thing.) A man who has his 13-year-old daughter living with him (and she chose to live with him over her mother) asks me to marry him–sounds like a perfect setting for a second beginning, right?
So very wrong. Into the marriage a few years–not the best, but I didn’t think the worst other than the fierce temper. His son comes to lives with us. Suddenly his daughter runs away at 16–she was into pot, lying, cheating and partying, so I thought she needed to go be with her mother. She hated her father (with good reason, I find out later.) Again, stupidly or naively (or both), I have no clue.
We have a lot of money–the partnership he is in is doing well so there are lots of vacations and “stuff.” But the walls of our house witness the most horrific acts a mother can imagine. I find out years later that this went on not only when I was gone, but while I was in the house! How devastating is that to hear–me–who always said, “How can a parent NOT know that is going on?” Easy–the child is told her mother will be hurt if she tells anyone. And the abuse on me escalates. His son tries to break it up once and he goes after his son with a hammer. When you allow yourself to become a victim of abuse, your self-worth goes right down the tubes. You are unlovable, worthless, just someone the world would be better off without. But I digress… this isn’t just about me.
Go a few years later–the verbal abuse is excessive, truly unbearable, but I have no money and the partnership has gone bust. Since he is a control freak and keeps the checkbook locked in his truck and he pays the bills, I don’t think I have anywhere to take Krista and survive. And I would have taken his son, too–I wouldn’t leave him behind. But I can’t take them and go home to my parents–it’s not that easy with them–they’ve already loaned me money to pay bills since he was putting his paycheck up his nose. Then the physical abuse starts with me–again, the threats of death if anyone is ever told, or if we leave. But my “suffering” was nothing compared to what I was daily subjecting my daughter to by staying. Then the suicide attempt–all Krista did at the hospital was apologize to me, and all I could tell her was how much I loved her and that it was okay. What kind of parent am I where my daughter wants to leave? How could I not know? Like an imbecile, I thought she was an overachiever who couldn’t take it anymore. (the DUH factor)
Then came the day when she told me what had been happening. I wish it had been different. Of course I believed her–she would never say something like that if it weren’t true. Due to extenuating circumstances, I could not leave at that time–but I had a plan for everything to happen soon. I never knew if she truly understood my predicament but I explained to her as best I could. She went away to college and then came back the next weekend with her friends to help me move. Secretly. To a place where he couldn’t find me, and I knew Krista was safe away at school.
Then he comes home early (during the move) and Krista confronts him (I am not there right then, unfortunately. Of course he denies everything and his son is there hearing all this. He takes his father into another room and Krista is hysterical waiting for me. I get her to my new place and away from the house entirely.
Now no one in my family understands that I must be cordial to this man for the next five years (but I don’t have to live with him.) He has ruined us financially by not paying back taxes–if I’m not cordial, he will run away and leave the entire debt to me alone. I had to work three jobs to pay just my share. It took over 10 years, but I am finally out from under that cloud.
Years go by–Krista (who by now has graduated from college, living in Maui) and I are talking and she says, “You always knew” which shook me down to the core of my soul. “No, I didn’t.” “But I showed you my journal that day” (when she was 8). “It said what he had been doing to me.” “But the page I read just talked about how he was angry all the time and cussing and throwing things. That’s when I told you that I wouldn’t leave you alone in the house with him anymore.” “You didn’t read the page that talked about everything?” “No..”
Well, just writing about this right now makes my heart hurt so much and the tears won’t stop.
How could my child love me when she thought I stayed KNOWING WHAT WAS HAPPENING? She told me she always knew I loved her. But how? What kind of a monster am I to allow this? Hindsight is always 20-20. Looking back, there are so many clues albeit subtle and maybe not so subtle.
Present day: Krista and I are very close. She is a wonderful woman, mother, daughter, a beautiful person inside and out, and now has a love and family of her own. There is not a day that goes by that I do not thank heaven for the second chance I was given to be her mother. She chose to keep me in her life and forgives me for not only placing her in harm’s way, but keeping her there for what must have seemed an eternity. Oh–and his daughter? We’re close too–the reason she was into everything and picking fights and finally ran away? He was abusing her too–and she didn’t know how to get Krista and me out and away from him other than acting out. She didn’t know how to tell me. I’m so sorry she had to go through all that too.
Now his son is a different story. He knows what his sister has said and, unfortunately, has blocked that day when Krista confronted his father from his mind entirely. Doesn’t “choose” to remember it. And he has a daughter…. And keeps his father in his family’s life…. So, we do not see them anymore. We do not want to accidentally run into him ever again.
It’s going to take me a whole lot longer to forgive myself, if I ever truly do. I’m so lucky that Krista keeps me in her heart. She is the kindest and most loving and forgiving person I know–we could all take a lesson from her.
Please parents, siblings, friends, and yes, victims – pay attention to every nuance. There are places to go, people to talk to, so many possibilities available and damn the lack of finances! Living in a cardboard box is better than staying in an evil place, no matter how comfortable. When something seems off –even if it doesn’t appear so on the outside–get out. Listen to your heart. It’s usually right.
Krista
i used to tell my mom i never wanted to get married and i never wanted to have kids. i just wasn’t sure i could trust anyone enough.
“but whoever you marry will know about your past and would never do anything like that.”
“did you think you would marry someone who would abuse you and molest your daughter?”
she is silent, sad.
my mom was the victim. i was the casualty.
if i write just the facts, leave out the metaphors, stay away from poetry, my childhood reads mysteriously like an afterschool special. it’s so cliché it’s practically a mantra.
we used to watch those movies in school where they showcase poorly acted melodramas and teach you to TELL SOMEONE SEEK HELP CALL AN AUTHORITY. i sat red with shame in the dark, watching my life played out before me with bad lighting and a small budget.
“it’s our little secret”
“if you tell anyone, you will be sorry”
“your mother would never believe you anyway”
it’s actually true. people really do say shit like this. only it’s during a heavily curtained afternoon while ashtrays overflow and humidity clings between the touches, smearing fingerprints and searing scars.
i knew it was wrong when i was seven and he first crossed the line, his fingers splayed mid-air. in my mind, when i replay the afternoon, my lavender eyelet bedspread takes notes, pictures, does the talking for me to my mom later that evening. i cry out loud and scream and rage and stop him. i prevent the years of inappropriate sexual conduct to follow. i do not sit there, silent as stone, and float away from my body, hovering near the window and averting my eyes to the skyline when i just can’t take it any longer. i call his bluff. i do not learn to disassociate and i prevent the line of bad decisions laid out before me on the well-worn, over-crowded path.
i do not lose my virginity at 15 while passed out after drinking half a bottle of tequila.
i scream rape.
i do not swallow an entire bottle of pills and wake up in an emergency room.
i talk about my pain to people who can actually help.
i do not let loose on a string of intoxicated one-night stands that lasts years and years.
i demand respect from (and for) myself.
i do not let my step-father back into my life over and over because i am afraid of him.
i kick him in the heart (i believe it is located in his groin) and keep walking.
i do not hold my mom accountable for something she didn’t even know was happening.
i do hold her accountable for tolerating the rest of it (his drug abuse, his violent physical attacks, his verbal attacks on me, on her, on everyone around him.)
and i forgive her.
and then i forgive myself.
i wake up almost thirty years later and smile at the love i’ve won like the lottery, swollen with the knowledge of my worth.
and i work like a motherfucking giant to protect my daughter, to teach her how much she is worth, to provide an environment where the only secrets kept are santa claus and the easter bunny.
she will know my scars. i have incurred them so that she doesn’t have to.
my mom will fight every day to let go of the guilt, the shame. and when she cries and apologizes, i will continue to smile and hold her tight and tell her i love her.
and i look her straight in the eye and remind her:
we aren’t those women anymore. we are these women.
i like these women.
***
Krista blogs at my life as i see it.
Wednesday Q&A: Is it ‘rape’ if I was old enough to say no?
Question:
I was a “tween” when a friend of the family started sexually abusing me. At the time, I felt like my words had little control over the situation, so I just didn’t say anything. But then I started wondering if it was really rape because I wasn’t a little kid when it started. I knew it was wrong, but I felt like I should have known better, been able to avoid it, and certainly not gone along without much protest. Everything I’ve read about young people as survivors talks about the abuse of very young children and then date rate for older teens, but the in-between age range is kind of blurry. So my question: Is is really ‘rape’ if I was old enough to say no, but didn’t?
Answer:
The very short answer is yes. I am so sorry this happened to you. You have absolutely no reason to blame yourself for this man’s actions. This was not your fault.
While many cases of child sexual abuse begin when kids are very little, it’s more common for abuse to begin during a child’s pre-teen years, between the ages of 8 and 12 (national statistics show the average age of first abuse is 9.9 years for boys and 9.6 years for girls). Like you, the vast majority of child sexual abuse survivors knew their abusers. And like your abuser probably did, most abusers spend months or more gaining their victims’ trust before the abuse begins.
It’s the job of adults to protect children from bad things. It’s the job of adults to create safe spaces for children so they can thrive free of harm. It’s the job of adults to use their age, strength and influence in good and constructive ways. This adult in your life, this so-called family “friend”, failed in all counts. As a “tween,” you were still very much a child. In the absence of a vocal “no”, his behavior remains unconscionably wrong.
If one is available, and if it feels like a good fit for you, you might consider joining a support group in your community for survivors of child sexual abuse. Alternatively, several online communities offer virtual support and honor the strength and stories of survivors — such as After Silence as well as the website you’re visiting here.
As a society, it’s absolutely critical that we help children, tweens and teens learn how to talk about these issues. Parents, guardians and teachers can help pre-teens understand how to ask for help if something happens that makes them feel uncomfortable. iParenting offers an informative article about helping pre-teens exercise control over their own boundaries. Tween Parent offers another helpful guide for talking with pre-teens about sex and sexuality.
Good luck to you. I am glad you found this community, and I wish you the best.
Please exercise the same safe, supportive, non-judgmental restraint in the comment section of the Q&A as you do for survivors, as many of them are reading.
Our volunteer expert, Carrie K., is a trained advocate who has worked with survivors of domestic abuse and sexual assault, as well as their families and friends. Her background includes hotline advocacy, community education, and awareness and prevention programming around issues of domestic violence and sexual assault. Most recently, she has worked for a domestic violence intervention and prevention program in Wisconsin. She blogs at rageisgood.blogspot.com
If you have something you have always wanted to know about domestic violence and/or sexual assault, please email your question to carrie [at] violenceunsilenced [dot] com.
Darlene
I am a survivor from birth.
I am the product of a shotgun wedding, literally. My mother hated me for ruining her life and let me know this fact my entire life — and still does. My father loved me in spite of his dreams being crushed and lost.
As a little girl, I was molested by the 60-something-year-old father of my babysitter, who was also a “friend” of my parents. In the 1950’s, this kind of thing was not only NOT talked about, it was not even known about. He coerced me into not telling. I was eight, what did I know? Then, totally by accident when I was having a bath, I let it slip that when my mom washed me it tickled like it did when “he” touched me there. The reaction was immediate and it was made clear that I had done something wrong and that I was a bad girl. It stayed with me forever… well, almost. I never really knew what was done to him if anything, but I was sent back to that house for a while since it was summer and there seemed to be no one else to take care of me. Needless to say the climate turned very cold to me while I was there.
That was the beginning of my abusive life and it took me until I was 40 years old to understand that I was not a bad person. You see I blocked it out of my mind or at least my conscious mind. My first two husbands were abusers and that seemed okay since I had no feelings of self worth, even though I worked and had a great relationship with fellow employees, friends and bosses. I was also a self abuser and there are regrets about things I did not do while I was younger.
Something good did come out of the two bad marriages — I have three wonderful sons who love me and care for me and cherish me. They are grown and two of them have children of their own that they cherish and love as I have loved them. My experience did teach me that no one should be made to feel that they are a burden, an eyesore, undeserving of unconditional love — especially not children.
I have gotten over the molestation with help but I am still not over the rejection my mother has given me my entire life. It still hurts and I still cry and I still can’t give up trying to make her love me. I know in my heart that will never change. My dad and my brother have both told me this but I can’t help myself. I am a mom and so is she, so why not to me?
I now have a very loving, caring and selfless husband who spoils me and only wants me to be happy and feel loved. He tells me constantly that I am smart, loving, strong and a person who is precious.
So in closing I would just like to say that I am a survivor and part of surviving is not giving up on trying to change those you love and yourself. It is when we look at ourselves as victims that we give up trying. We give up everything and everyone in our lives and those who may come into our lives. My dad passed away many years ago, but he is still with me and keeps me strong in his love. I feel it mostly when I feel the hurt coming back about the beginning and I know that he will always be happy he made the choice he did to be my dad.
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Darlene blogs at Just Me.
