A mentor of mine, perhaps even the blogmeister that brought me to you said, “What is there to fear from truth?”
I am a survivor of childhood abuse. I’ll cut to the chase. So far, my memories are of my father, male relatives and a “friend” who took advantage of a naive teenager.
The “truth” of my abuse has not settled well with two of my sisters. What is there to fear? Well, for them, probably a slight amount of both guilt and oddly plausible, jealousy that I was the “chosen one.”
For my brother, the truth was perhaps accepted but in his alcoholic inheritance not fully comprehended. For a third sister, total acceptance of my memories based on her own vivid childhood observations.
Acknowledgment comes to us in many forms I would imagine. Mine began with body memories (forty years after some of the incidents), and then mini-movies played for me as I moved through remembering unhappy moments in my childhood. A support group of other incest survivors also helped to piece together many very black, forgotten moments from my childhood.
Can I understand why this happened to me? Yes. I have learned Daddy came from an abusive alcoholic background. He was a World War II survivor. I know Mommy had low self esteem and mistakenly blamed herself for her husband’s violent drunken beatings.
What is there to fear from truth? Absolutely nothing! Truth is what happened in my past. Truth is a memory. Can I assimilate this truth into my present? Can I break this chain of truth and leave the broken links in the gutter of negativity and heredity where they came from?
You’re damn right I can, and did. My father also gave me the gift of nurturing the land, caring for, pruning, recreating forms of plants and trees. I transferred that love of nurturing to the care of my beloved and understanding husband, my children, my gardens, and most recently to the love and education of my voice students.
Thanks Daddy for giving me the best of what you brought to the earth...rest in that peace.