Tony's stash of textual information

I won’t pretend I know what you have been through. I’m here to share what I have experienced, and the tools that have helped me cope, in the hopes you may find some support and help. Since these tools work differently for everyone, it is not your fault if you find that they do not work for you; other tools may work for you, and you may not have found them yet — I believe it is an opportunity for hope, though you may not feel particularly hopeful at this point in time, depending on where you are in your process of coping with sexual abuse.

I had a memory, in my twenties, of having had an object inside my anus. I don’t remember my age at that point in time; I remember feeling powerless and terrified. I did not want it in my anus, and yet it was there, I felt dis-empowered over my body: it was my body, and I expected respect, and yet I was treated as if my body belonged not to me; I don’t remember my permission being sought, regardless of what it was that was in my anus. (I can guess what that object is but I cannot say I am one-hundred-percent sure.)

Fast-forward to my twenties. A care-giver, who has been in that role since my childhood, unzipped a top that I was wearing, when she was with me in an elevator. I did not ask for that to be done, and I could not understand why she did what she did. I remember feeling like I looked attractive in that top. I had to learn to call it a molest, or, if not, inappropriate physical touches. I still feel violated when I recall it.

That same care-giver would touch me in a sexual way, another evening, again in my twenties.

At least one time in my teenage years, she pulled the waistband of my shorts/bottom so that my buttocks were exposed. At that point in time, I tried to justify and normalise her actions: “she’s just checking to see if I have pooped in my pants — she always does this”. Deep down, I felt outraged and infantilised. Writing this, I know, on a level, that my permission ought to have been sought before she did that. I try not to blame myself — it’s not my fault.

I have felt neglected around that care-giver, and for a long time I was reluctant to even consider that she was behaving inappropriately with me; I had not wanted to come across ungrateful, and I felt shame over what happened to me.

As you might have guessed, it was difficult for me to process all these feelings, and for a period of time I felt very sad and in despair. I did not see how I could ever leave the situation that I was in.

Now, I share what helped me cope.

Reading helped me. I list a few books, in the order that I first came across them:

The Bible. I hungered and thirsted for justice over what happened to me. Reading the Old and New Testaments, I am satisfied to read that there is a god who punishes the disobedient, and yet shows the kind of mercy that I was craving for. In his own words, “there is no peace for the wicked”. (Isaiah 48:22). “Cancer Survivorship Coping Tools — We’ll Get you Through This: Tools for Cancer’s Emotional Pain From a Melanoma and Breast Cancer Survivor”. By Barbara Tako. I have not received a diagnosis of cancer yet, but I did feel (unbearable) emotional pain, and I tried out various tools that the writer has tried herself. Some were really helpful for me, like journalling, and others not so much. “Four Steps to Forgiveness: A powerful way to freedom, happiness and success.” by William Fergus Martin. At a certain point in time, I wanted to know how to forgive, and a copy of this book appeared in my life just then, happily enough. I thank my god. One thing I learnt was that forgiveness does not have to mean reconciliation. For example, you could choose to forgive a drug-addict for not having been emotionally available to you, but you might choose to not spend time with him/her until s/he quits his drug-habits. Some people might call it ‘tough love’ or ‘conditional reconciliation’. “The Sexual Healing Journey: A Guide for Survivors of Sexual Abuse”. By Wendy Maltz. I felt supported while reading this, as the writer shares her experiences of sexual abuse while suggesting exercises that could help the reader to process the experience of abuse. Besides reading, I also found counselling helpful. At one point in time, I was holding on to a false sense of normalcy: “I don’t need counselling!” Eventually, I was distressed enough to give it a try. It was helpful that the counsellor promised confidentiality (except in the cases that I pose a threat to my own safety or the safety of others). She helped me acknowledge and honour my feelings. She gave a name to what I was feeling at that point in time: shame.

Art-therapy turned out to be a delightful and fun experience, and I felt more competent after appointments with an art-therapist. Since art-therapists may not be as easy to locate as counsellors, I provide a hyperlink to the (web-site of the) art-therapist whom I’ve worked with: http://mira-yoon.format.com/