Letting go, the first process of healing
I lost my virginity when I was nine years old; I broke my hymen on a bicycle. However, I have had sexual encounters before now, early childhood days to be précised.
I grew up in a troubled home, I realized this when I was seven years old, but the early days of my childhood were with my mother, younger brother and a mean maid in a one bedroom apartment, what we know as “self-con.”
The memory of my first sexual experience is vague, just like the indecisive black clouds on a windy day, I can’t remember much, but I remember going into one of our neighbour’s house and that was how it all began…
I remember what his room was like, a bachelor’s room; a red rug, Video tapes, A television, A bed which had a bible and a bottle of anointing oil on it. This neighbour was a pastor, my mother’s pastor, a man whom she practically worshipped and still worships.
Little kids play with little kids a lot. Sometimes they wander into the home of adults to watch movies or for some snacks. I don’t remember what took me there, but I remember being placed on the bed.
The only clothing I had on was a white pant which had turned brown from playing in the sand. This man took off my panties, he parted the lips of my labia majora and pulled off his boxers. He began to rub the tip of his penis on me….slowly…even at the entrance of my vagina.
This particular memory was vague…but I remember it clearly the second time.
We had moved to another apartment, but my mother was strongly associated with this pastor. He visited most times, but I was not scared, the first memory was vague and I think I must have been two or three years then.
My mother had left us home with her maid, this house was different. There was a parlour and a big bedroom.
I had gone to school with my brother, we returned home and ate, played and washed our uniforms. The day went on well really, then the night came.
I was deeply asleep, next was my brother. I hardly had nightmares as a child, but the feeling of something huge being rubbed on my thigh made me wake.
I could feel his hands on my tiny mouth, I could barely breathe as I wriggled my tiny body on the bed. With his free hand, he slipped off my panties and began to rub his penis on my vagina another time. I was afraid, I was scared and tried to scream, but my mouth was covered.
He circled his penis over my vagina all through the night till the early hours of the morning. I woke up very sad, knowing what had happened. While the maid was bathing me, she saw some stains on my panties and asked me about it, but I didn’t have anything to say.
I was afraid of her. I was afraid of my mother too.
You see, this maid acted really nice when my mother was around, and when she wasn’t, she would be really mean to us.
My mother was a very hot-tempered person. I don’t remember her showing me any love gesture, even till date and that has affected our relationship which I fear may never be healed. I don’t remember her as a loving person, but one who would scream the house down whenever she was around.
But she was a good provider, still is, but what is a mother without a bond with her child?
The next day, the man who molested me served communion.
I also couldn’t tell anyone about what he did because I knew they wouldn’t believe me. He was a “powerful” man of God back then, whose report would be believed but the report of “God?”
I started avoiding this pastor whenever we went to his church. I was even gladder when we moved away from that vicinity to another state entirely, now to reconcile with my infidel father.
Years passed by, I thought I was normal, I thought that singular act of my childhood wouldn’t have any impact on my life, but it did, it STILL does.
I began to experience depression, unnecessary anger and I battled with low self-esteem. I would be happy this minute and the next I would be plunged into forlorn depression, one that nothing could take me out off.
I knew deep down that my feelings were connected to that childhood experience but I couldn’t tell anyone about it.
When I was sixteen, at the brink or should I say the entrance of mild schizophrenia, I summoned courage and shared this experience with my mother. I don’t know what came over me, I regret opening up to her as her reaction hurt me more than the molestation.
After I told her that I was molested, she simply asked, ‘Is that what is still affecting you now? That was a long time ago, it shouldn’t be.’
I was stunned that my own mother could say something like that.
I didn’t expect her to get furious or maybe search for her Pastor and do something to harm him, I just felt the need to talk to someone, I didn’t even expect an apology, even her silence would have been enough.
My hatred for her burned, it blew hot and cold whenever I remembered that careless utterance.
My mother’s carelessness did not stop there, she still talks about this Pastor of hers and how God used him to deliver one of my brothers. Her dagger is the one that hurts me most. She mentions his name carelessly, forgetting the negative impact this would have on me.
There was a time she gave me a book to read, maybe she thought that would bring me healing. She said, ‘read this book, Joyce Meyer was raped by her father, she is over it now. It would help.’
Again, I was stunned that my mother could react this way.
I grew uncomfortable with her, I am still not totally comfortable, but she is my mother whether I like it or not.
I have been raped too at adulthood, but that is a story for another day.
These traumatic experiences have destroyed my childhood, my happiness and a lot of things. I don’t trust people, especially men. I never wanted to get married or even have kids. Why bring kids to this world to suffer?
I personally wished never to have a daughter, I don’t know if I could forgive myself should my daughter or son get molested.
I have been in a maze of pain, constant trips to the past and I have wallowed in depression.
The worst thing for a depressed person is to have family members who rule out medical possibilities and blame everything on demons.
Don’t get me wrong, I know demons exist (for theists), but my depression had no relationship with any demon but a childhood experience that I carried through my adulthood.
I have suffered panic anxieties and some phobias too, I was a wreck but many people didn’t know that. They saw me as a very normal person, but I knew deep down that I was far from normal.
I conquered depression and the voices of my sexual abuse which were trapped in my mind one evening. It was a beautiful evening indeed. The sun was golden, the skies were deep blue and the wind was friendly. The air smelled of sunflowers and the Queen of the night and I was humming the song we had rehearsed.
“You were raped by a pastor, you’re never going to be happy.”
One of the voices whispered to me. Without warning, my mood changed, happiness fled and a cold wave of eerie silence, a black veil of uneasiness fell upon me.
I was not myself. It took the grace of God for me to cross the road safely back home as I was not in my right mind.
I had nothing to say or do to quench that voice, I was helpless.
Immediately I stepped into my room, I moved towards my mirror and stared at myself.
I knew what depression meant and I had been battling it in my own little way, I had even begun saving up money for a psychologist.
I Looked into the mirror, I stared hard at my reflection. I went back into the past; I felt the hands of my molester all over me; I felt my mother’s harsh words; I felt the absence of my infidel father; I felt the ignorance of the world and then I took a decision.
‘Yes, I was molested by a Pastor who served communion the next day. Yes, God has refused to punish him for the crime he committed. Yes, I have a mother who can never understand what sexual abuse means. Yes, I was molested! But you know what? I have a story to tell! I am going to write a book, and inspire a lot of people. I am going to watch and save as many little girls that I can. What else do you have on me?’ I whispered to the voice in my head.
At that moment, depression died in my life. The pain I always felt, the suicidal thoughts that came along with the pain took flight. I cannot describe the way I felt after saying those words.
Tears poured out from my eyes after I’d accepted my pain after I’d let go after all those years.
‘I am free.’ My lips shook.
I have not been depressed since that time, even when the devil wants to come back, I tell him that I am an inspiration to other people.
So, friends, if you have been molested by an uncle or someone you trusted. If you have been raped or assaulted in any way. Once, twice or multiple times, don’t give up, there is healing for you.
Don’t spend your time hating or getting angry at those who hurt you, don’t wish them evil, feeding your mind with negativity would make your situation worse.
Just LET GO.
You cannot go back in time and change it, but here is a list of things you can do:
– Make sure it doesn’t happen again.
– Make sure you spread the word and save other people
– Open up to people about what happened. Talking about your experiences makes you feel better at the end of the day.
– See a psychologist.
– When you have daughters or sons, be careful with the people you have around them.
– Do not be ashamed of this experience, this is where the problem comes. Why should you be ashamed of something you never wished for, had no control over?
– Always tell yourself the truth, ‘IT WAS NOT MY FAULT.’
If I tell you the road to my healing was easy, then I’d be a liar.
I am healed, I am alive but the girl next door may not be. The girl next door may be abused and she ends up with an STD or a pregnancy. Let’s be vigilant people!
I hope you learned from my story. I have forgiven the Pastor molester, I wish him well wherever he is. I have let go of all the pain my mother caused me by her utterances, but it will be difficult having a healthy relationship but I love and respect her as my mother. I am a happy person now.
Let go and let love rule over you! Cheers!