The Pain of Childhood Trauma

As a young girl, I remember sitting on my small bed asking God, why do people act the way they do?  I couldn’t understand why my father was so distant and full of rage. I wanted answers! How can one person be so kind, my mother, and another be so angry, my father. My childhood was more than just a little complicated, it was full of uncertainty, fear, and emotional turmoil. This was my normal, but there was nothing normal about it.

As a young, eight-year-old girl, I had learned how to stay out of the way and disappear. I wasn’t seen, much less heard. I was completely unaware that my next abuser was ready and waiting for me. One hot summer afternoon, he found me in the old barn across the street from our old blue and white trailer house. He trapped me in the corner of the barn, on top of some scratchy hay, and told me take off my clothes. He proceeded to poke and examine every inch of my body. I felt like a scared rabbit facing a coyote that wanted to devour me. I cried, unable to move as my heart raced in fear and confusion.

Once he was done with me, he told me to put on my clothes. I stood up, wiped the tears from my face, and dressed myself. He said, “You can’t tell anyone about this, they wont understand.” I thought to myself, I don’t understand. We then walked outside and finished feeding the cows, he acted as if nothing had happened. He didn’t stop for almost five more years.

He manipulated and controlled my mind and body. I felt guilty and shameful for what he did to me. I lived in constant fear and heightened anxiety every day. My outgoing, charismatic personality slowly faded away, along with my confidence. Then, my insecurities grew, along with my disgust for the girl who partook in these sexual acts. He convinced me that I had instigated our horrific sexual relationship, that if I said anything no one would ever believe me, and that I was just a dirty little girl!

And people wonder why we don’t tell?

Maybe we don’t tell because of the manipulation our abuser provides, or maybe it’s because of the shame we carry. Every survivor has their reasons, we all live with our horrifying secrets, until we are ready to face our past and find our voices. Unfortunately, our past has repercussions that interfere with our future, and those repercussion can look something like this.

The repercussions of my abuse:

·         I learned to lie and keep secrets.

·         I felt guilty and shameful.

·         I feared men.

·         I didn’t trust people.

·         I had panic attacks, which turned into PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder).

·         I hated and despised myself and my body.

·         I learned to shut down and disregard my feelings.

·         I pretended to be someone I wasn’t.

·         I learn to detach form my body (outer body experiences) to escape my abuse.

·         I partook in self-harm by starving myself and physically hurting myself.

·         I became an over-achiever and a perfectionist.

·         I drank to numb my feelings and would seek out sex to feel loved, not knowing the difference between the two.

·         I believed I deserved to be abused.

·         Ultimately, I learned to be the perfect victim.

I coped in order to survive, just like any other survivor. My coping skills morphed and changed throughout the years, they lasted until I chose to address and change them. These coping skills made my life and my relationships more challenging. I lived with chaos, drama, and dysfunction until I was 24 years old. Then, I chose to seek out help and start my own journey of healing through understanding, education, and a new perspective. 

Are you ready to Find Your Voice and change your life?

You deserve more than the pain of you past experiences, you deserve to heal!

Love,

Mannette