I do.

Jonathan’s last blog post..A Quiet Day at Home

I didn’t tell anyone what happened to me until my mom died unexpectedly. I was 44 years old. My reaction to her death was a surprise; I had a nervous breakdown. I ended up in counseling and over the following year I discovered the true impact being sexually and mentally abused over 30 years before had on me. Most importantly I discovered why I never told my parents or anyone close to me what happened. In a nutshell, I was afraid that they would not react or say the things I really needed and wanted them to do and say to me. I had two big fears; one was that they would blame me or that they knew what was happening and didn’t do anything about it. Those possibilities were paralyzing for me.

Between the times the abuse ended and when my mom died I went on with my life. I didn’t follow the typical behavior patterns of abused girls (risky behavior, early and many relationships with men, substance abuse – well, I do abuse chocolate). I was a good kid, well liked by adults and peers, a bit rebellious in an okay way; always the class clown and very much alone with my horrible secret. I also worked hard to separate myself from my family. After all, if they loved me they would have protected me. I felt like I didn’t belong in my family, I was different.

I surrounded myself with activities where I felt safe (mainly Camp Fire) and I preferred the company of families that made me feel safe and accepted me being me. Thinking back I can’t guarantee I was really being me then or if I was just looking for adults who were my idea of the kind of adult I wanted to become. Maybe they were adults who wanted me to be who I wanted to be. I always looked for ways I was different from my family and I wanted to be better than my family. The strange thing is that I really didn’t have a bad family. I guess I needed to think about my family in the negative so I had an excuse for what happened to me. When I think about it now I think I was inventing myself as I went along and somehow I managed to become a person I am happy with. The more time that passed the less I identified with the abused girl but the scars were still there.

I was always amazed that my parents never asked me why I set myself apart from the family and I have no idea if I ever would have told them had they asked. However through counseling I learned that my choice not to tell my family about what happened to me and my desire to stay away from my family was really me satisfying my need for some control in my life. My actions kept me at the center of their attention (so I assumed) because they were constantly trying to figure out why I made the choice to separate myself from them. Whenever I was around them everyone walked on eggshells, afraid to do or say anything that might put me off and hence, keep me away more. Deep down I think I wanted them to hurt because I hurt. I do know that, because of my choices, my parents did not see me graduate from either high school or college; my daughter did not get to know her grandparents, aunts, uncles or cousins; I found out my mom was terminally ill only nine days before she died; and I let a lot of years go by that I can never get back.

I literally shake when I have to call someone besides my husband. Even someone I’ve known for years, someone I know adores me, someone who has BEGGED me to call.

We all need to form a support group. Where we only e-mail each other, of course.

Coco’s last blog post..Won’t You Be My Slightly Creepy Neighbor?

Truly, through most of this I felt like you were talking about me.

Heather’s last blog post..Questionable Advertising

Not only do we share similar lives and the same name, we share this too. The entire time I was in WNY it took me much longer to establish friendships then it needed to. I was welcomed. But I was so overwhelmed with first time motherhood, I couldn’t imagine others would want me intruding, as they must be overwhelmed too. At least that is often my logic — I don’t want to intrude or inconvenience anyone. As I near 40, I think I’m realizing that inconvenience is what life is all about. And trying to smile through it together.

But I still will always hate the phone. I think that is why I left reporting.

Life in Eden’s last blog post..Sightings Update (now with more hints)

I understand being a phonaphobe – I’d rather order pizza on the internet than call for it.

I do think, now than the gloom has passed, it is time to plan a get together of local bloggers… on neutral territory of course.

We are so alike it’s scary. But in a reassuring, good way.

And we are so getting together for lunch n’ sewing soon.

Misc’s last blog post..Ladies First