At their own peril, predators believe that their lies will be kept hidden forever.
I heard one perpetrator say, “Even when you’re caught, lie. Lie to the end.” Well, that only works if the victim keeps quiet.
I have learned that I’m only as strong as the story I tell. With each telling, I gain more strength and understanding into who I am. When I kept silent and held it all in, I suffered greatly, made bad choices and lived a life half-mast.
Every time I had to confront a person who abused me, they called me a liar. Told me they were innocent. At their discretion, they bullied me and believed they could keep me quiet with their insistent denial. Each of them thought I would not find the strength to stand against them.
Unfortunately, that was true for much of my early life. What hampered me was my ability to practice dissociation. When I woke up at night with debilitating leg pain or a nightmare, I would go into the bathroom, sit on the toilet and find a “zone” that seemed to fly me to the ceiling. Through my dissociative efforts, I could look down on myself and feel no pain.
Those practices are still evident in me today.
When a painful memory comes forth, I find myself is the fog of dissociation, struggling to stay in reality.
What did I learn from my family? I learned to practice pretense.
I no longer hate myself and I don’t belong to their club anymore. I tell my story now even when it hurts. And, sometimes, I find myself sailing against the wind.