We’re here for you

Avoidance and Acceptance – Facing my reality.

When I think about my journey, I knew from the moment I disclosed at 8 years old that the relationship with my brother wasn’t right.  After disclosure I realised, I couldn’t trust any of the adults in my life either. I went against the grain, as my mom wasn’t listening, I told everyone what was happening to me, teachers, friends, friends of mom’s everyone knew but no one did anything so I stayed stuck in a house full of danger and horror. The anger wasn’t lost on me, but mom threatened and scared to the point where I kept my mouth shut and my anger wouldn’t show itself for another 20 years.

The only shining light was my nan and grandad who knew something was wrong yet felt powerless to stop it. They asked questions but for some reason I didn’t want to taint the world with that word and the horrific reality of my life. Nan was so dedicated it took her 3 hours to see me just for a couple of hours after school. She got robbed the one night on her way back home, nothing stopped her.

Fast forward to reaching 20 years old and I reported to the police for the first time to be told that my brother was experimenting, and it was harmless. Then when I was 22, Nan died, the one saviour, the one person who loved me and knew what was going on even though I never told her. Three months after her death I could not stop crying, literally couldn’t stop, I found a private counsellor.

You have to remember up until this point it was easy to live in denial and avoidance. My trauma bonds had done what they do, flight had kicked in and I could barely remember what happened to me. This along with everyone around me denying my truth it was easy to pretend it didn’t happen.

And so we come to the theme of my story avoidance and acceptance, knowing something so horrific has happened to you but subconsciously never wanting to go there. 

As I sat in the chair the counsellor’s emotionless face asking the standard questions she asked “Why am I here?” now at this point I would have assumed I would talk about my nan’s passing instead I said “I think I was abused”. The emotionless face turned into a puzzled one and I think without her even being able to engage her head and her mouth she automatically said “well either you were or you weren’t so which is it?”.

Between 2007 and 2020 I had two counsellors, but I could still never say the word rape I would call it anything else, a bit like the series The Walking Dead, they never use the word zombies they call them walkers instead. I would use every other word but that one.

Fast forward to 2019 at 34 years old I was off to London to take part in the national enquiry into child abuse. I told them my story, told them my point of view and the impact the abuse had had on my life. At this point, they asked if I would like to report what happened to the police to which I said yes.

During lockdown, I reported to the police, still avoiding that word. I had a brilliant ISVA who supported me the whole way. I was then offered counselling by RSVP and waited for the sessions to start. I like face to face counselling, I like how as soon as I walk in they (as in counsellors) start doing their thing, judging your mood, commenting on how rushed and flustered I usually am. I like how they comment on me tapping my fingers, I have always been impatient with my counselling, “Just cure me damn it then I can be done with all this”. How naïve of me. How impatient of me.

Counselling at RSVP was different, I had to face the word, and I have to properly accept my reality, no avoiding this time. I am actually worthy of the free counselling, actually worthy of their time and resources, as I say that I still have a tear in my eye and a choked-up throat.  Finally, after all these years I am getting what I wanted when I was 8 years old. Finally having to face my reality, this is where people go when they have been RAPED. Wow there I said it, I finally said it, I finally feel it, I finally get to a certain level of acceptance. 

Now the million-dollar question is, would I have got to that point if I had not received the free counselling? Would I have not to that point just by attending my private counselling alone? The answer, I don’t think so, so much to do with trauma bonds is avoidance, a lot of mine happened subconsciously too. I was going to heal from being abused but calling it rape weirdly even subconsciously seemed like a step too far. Abuse is softer, more palatable, it could mean anything. Rape is too direct, too real.

So, this is dedicated to all survivors who are navigating our acceptance of what happened to us. A thank you to the avoidance for keeping us safe and able to function when at times we cannot. Thank you as well to acceptance, for being so powerful when we make those tiny little steps towards it and giving us faith that at some point, we come to a place of peace and being able to accept what happened because I WAS RAPED.

Why does everything have to be a battle?

A blog written by a former client and supporter of RSVP.

I’m sitting in the waiting room. Legs shaking, heart racing, a bead of sweat
leaves my face- Anxiety.

My name is called, and I walk into the room like a lamb to the slaughter, my
mind trying to distract itself from the triggers that start to occur. I hear
the muffled voice of the gynaecologist talking about the ‘check-up’ I’m about
to have, he starts to ask me questions, questions that I already know will be
asked, preparing for my cue for those words I have to say, I immediately look
away as the words escape my lips just so I don’t have to have that look, the
look of shock, embarrassment for asking me and then pity- in that order. Those
words come through hesitation.

“I was raped and sexually abused”

I also know what the reply will be, “I’m sorry I didn’t see this in
your notes straight away” This is not because I can see the future, this
is because no matter what appointment it may be this is what always
happens. 

Why does everything have to be a
battle? Why can’t I just walk in without all these feelings? Why is
something so traumatic and important hidden away in the lost pages of doctor’s
notes? Shouldn’t I be able to go to an appointment such as a baby scan for
example without the reminder of the monster who took my innocence away, when
you’re trying to move 3 steps forward just to be dragged 6 steps back?

One of the experiences I had, started the same way, but this time my mom’s
with me, she stands up with me almost in sync, the face of the doctor who’s
doing today’s examination looks confused, her face full of disbelief- she
hesitates as she shows us the way. I’m instantly annoyed at the judgement, she’s
wondering to herself why a 30 year old woman needs her mom to assist her
through this simple procedure. Nothing is mentioned, I walk into the room and
the nurse has the same look on her face. They both shared a glare
together. 

Like before, the questions are asked and answered, but she’s silent. Maybe
she didn’t hear me as I lay down ready? She asks me again, I reply again and
all of sudden everything changes, their body language changes, that look I was
welcomed with has gone.
“I didn’t see this on your notes” after scrolling for a few seconds
she realises. An apology enters the room, her admitting her judgment. She
offers another appointment with extra time so I can control the pace with whomever
I feel comfortable with to hold my hand- all the steps that should of been in
place in the first place. 

This isn’t the first and I know it won’t be the last. Thankfully not every
appointment is like this and I have had better experiences with a lot of help
and compassion. 

My idea is maybe a sign that survivors can have on their notes next to their
names such as possibly a purple circle sticker- purple represents survivor of
rape/sexual abuse.
My background in working in a hospital and on our computer system we see certain
signs about some patients background, for example we know immediately that if
a  patient has a risk of illness which is contagious to anyone else, there
is a circle that is black and yellow, or a patient that is a risk of falls,
there is a little stick man that’s falling. These are somethings that we see
straight away before we look into the patients notes. 

Another suggestion is something similar to the domestic abuse sign which is having
a closed fist with the thumb tucked in. For those who are unfamiliar with this
sign, this is used when you ask for help discreetly or show that you are in
distress without using your voice. Say maybe the same symbol but put your fist
to your heart when you don’t feel you’re in a safe place or not in the right
frame of mind to talk about it so automatically receptionists and doctors can
put things in place ready for you. These are just small steps but big
enough to change our experiences and may ease anxiety for many at appointments.

RSVP offers an ISVA service to help survivors through health and other triggering
appointments. Click here to find out more.

Sugar coated words

Some days I welcome the frost in the mirror,

too unbreakable to reflect crystal thoughts,

Stones rattling for each word thrown in discarded arrogance,

Barely skimming the surface as I casually toss them aside.

Some days I am on the run,

A fake criminal with no record, only the sentence has already been given,

Judge and jury lining up one by one

Ready to hurtle sugar coated undertones of narrative, silent accusations.

However far away I am sent,

Through the raging underbelly of a swirling mist or banished to the darkest corners,

I still exist                                                                                

I am ready.

I have survived!

© Elizabeth Shane – (From Behind the Mask)

Available on www.elizabethshane.com

You & Me

Thank you to the survivor who submitted this poem, and the five other poems published over the past few days. We really appreciate you sharing your words with us and other survivors.

A year

since you started to help my broken

Self

stitch-my-skin-back

t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r

Comfort film with

pancake making

Sleeping with you – my naked person

Valentine’s day chocolates and prosecco in

bed

When the stitches

 fall

I held onto

you

Violent crying I can’t                                                                                   (stop)

Raw emotions that open

up the wound

Phantom pains

Force memories back

But you are here

Holding onto me too

fish and chips and

good sex

Your voice comforting me on the train

You

Me

I was broken

I was no longer me

Now I am me

Me with you

i want to write a happy poem

i want to write a happy poem

but while I’m still sad

you make me safer

anchored to your body

my fingertips graze over your chest

following to your nipples and collarbone

kissing you, chin to cheek

your lips on my neck and hands giving me heat

below

i wear your hoodie to have your arms around

me again

outlining my smiles with your finger

we wait for the miles between us to cease

your hands in my hair again

brushing your fingers through it

you like my cheeky grin

hands that warm mine

and fit as if by design.

i smiled through the pain

i smiled through the pain in the morning

as I knew you’d have to

leave

i kissed you goodbye

now I can only cry

i feared the thud would be heard through the

walls

violence echoes in the silence

now I just have blood

a bruised body

and pain where I sit

is this what I get for being called fit?

i let you in

i let you in

so I deserved the cries of pain

i felt the shame

crying

             on

                    the

                             stairs

it’s my fault, I repeat

a mantra, as I destroy the sheets

my mind in constant retreat

the guilt is all

mine

Ghost

You’re my ghost.

In the back of my mind.

The night we spent together haunting me.

Where are you?

Your name makes me shudder.

I recognise the smell of you.

Leave me alone!

Invading my thoughts and fantasies…

Biting kisses, forceful pushes and cries of pain.

Your fingers snake around my neck.

In my mouth.

I beg, I turn away, push you off me.

Pain.

Again and again and again.

Removing your hand again, again.

Clutching at the mattress with no relief.

Moaning in fear of force.

Blood splattered.

Squeezing me tight.

I close my eyes.

And then your hand goes again.

I go quiet.

Staring at my shelves.

Rectangular, ordered.

Block it out.

I sleep with my arms around you,

We kiss goodbye.

Sitting in the showers I cry.

Agony.

I can’t sit.

I can’t pee.

What’s happened to me?

Only I cry and hold the pain.

In the darkness you push my head down again.

Body broken, bruised in bad places.

I must carry on, this is just another

Day.

The chance I have you after your call to meet

Small talk.

Excuses at every block.

Confusion at every question.

Stumbling

Silence.

Every place on campus,

A tag on Facebook,

Snagging at memories.

Me gagging.

Your words burn.

I struggle to see anything worth inside of me.

All Women

A survivor has sent some poems to share with here with other survivors. Watch this space for more poems.

I had my first crush when I was 11.

Soft, excited, feelings – a high five, a hello made my day.

I was 12 when I was first asked out by a boy.

I was 13 when the boy sitting next to me in Geography class asked if a guy had popped my cherry yet.

I was 14 when I was first catcalled and honked at on a run.

I was 18 when I was told I was expected to dress more conservatively.

And at 19 I was sexually abused and I thought my life was over.

The pain that night – 29 November 2019 – was so bad I thought I was going to die.

To me it came out of nowhere and it was a completely random event.

So when at 20 for voicing my opinion that went against the leader of our group I was called aggressive.

I thought no.

I am strong. I am feisty. And you don’t like that I have a voice, which goes against yours.

But too bad, I am here

and here

to stay.

The Unspoken: a true story

Rebecca Parsons has shared an extract of her book ‘The Unspoken: a true story’, which tells her true story of child sex abuse survival. Rebecca says ‘I know this book will bring comfort and help to those who are in of need it’.

My name is Rebecca Parsons, and I was sexually abused for four years from the age of six. Separate to that, I have also been sexually assaulted by three different men, and I have been in two violent, unfaithful, manipulative relationships which tore apart my trust in men. I haven’t known my self-worth since my dad left home before my abuse.

   I intend to bring light and awareness to a subject devastating enough to raise the hairs on your arms, making you more aware of what sexual abuse victims truly go through. Shall we get into it?

So, what about us everyday people? Our pain, our hurt and the strength we have needed in order to pull ourselves through the darkest of days? You see, when we ‘everyday people’ speak up, many are quickly dismissed and face embarrassment, but when famous people speak up, it is considered brave and inspirational. Usually, you will find that they are inspirations to people who have been lucky enough to have not experienced any non-consensual sexual encounters. You see, too many ‘everyday people’ have learnt to stay quiet. If you don’t, you feel the suffering of feeling embarrassed, discomfort, resentment, unworthiness, and most common of all, not being ‘normal’. Once I had to take time off work for my own mental health. I phoned and was already crying before they answered. But I had only recently started to see my worth and put myself first before life got too much for me. I told them I would happily go in and explain my life story. I was genuinely willing to go in and open the boxes in my head, knowing how that would affect me, all to make sure they understood me. Their response:

“Well, what about us? We need to find cover.”

Are you kidding me? All my life I have tried to keep things hidden for fear of sounding selfish. The one time I was willing to explain it to somebody, so they see I was not mentally stable, they think about themselves and their business! I thanked her – for what, I was unsure of – but I felt rage boiling within. From that day, my mindset changed. Never again would I allow myself to feel like that. I know how scary seeking help is. I know how scary it is to relive your past. I also know that many people might think they are over their trauma, but perhaps at one point they will need this book, because something has brought their torment to the surface. I am here. For you all, I am here. I am going to show you just how much you can do and what you can overcome, because you are brave and strong. You’re still on this earth, right? That tells me how strong you are instantly. Another reason for this book is so that partners of loved ones can hopefully get a greater understanding of what they are going through. And parents of children who have been through this: this book is also for you, to help you understand and to be understood yourself. If you’re a stranger to all of this, then perhaps you just want a better awareness of this horrible abuse which seems to happen everywhere and never disappears. I began to work on myself, knowing that my self-worth had to change, too! From that point on, I committed to putting myself and my mental health first. After all, I have a beautiful son to live for.  So here I am, writing the true story of behind a victim’s eyes. For the beautiful people who can relate to this book in any way, well this is for you and I’m here to tell you that I’ve got you!

                                                                         Love, Becky x