No one really cares about child abuse. Especially when you’ve grown up.
That’s how it feels sometimes. I mean, everyone wants to prevent it, wants to stop it, and wishes it didn’t happen in the world, but after, then what? Does it just go away? Does the kid just get over it and it’s done with.
If you follow me on either of my blogs, then you know I journal daily. I have done so for a few years now, and today, somehow, I wrote the immortal words, I was abused. It took me by surprise that these worse existed on my page. Not that I had forgotten, but it’s like a dirty sentence, a thing still to be ashamed of even now. Even after five books documenting it, it feels so strange to say.
Sometimes I feel like a shadow walking through the world amongst all the other people who can’t really see me—the real me. No one ever really sees shadows, they’re just there. They exist as the darkness following people around.
I remember someone saying to me, oh sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you about the abuse. It took me aback to hear that. To realise people were afraid to bring it up with me because hey, I’d forgotten all about it and might suddenly remember and fall apart.
It’s very hard for me to comprehend this, because I don’t forget. That’s the problem. It’s here, in my head, always. I walk up the stairs at night when I am alone in my house … a house where nothing ever happened, and around the corner I might possibly walk into the shadow of my childhood. I stand in the shower and a momentary lapse of judgement; I realise I have turned my back to the door and suddenly that fear is there. Someone is behind me. I wake in the middle of the night, gasping, realising I feel into such a deep sleep.
There isn’t a day goes by where I don’t think about something … some part of such a giant slice of my life. And I don’t think anyone understand that. I type this and bite my lip to keep it from trembling, just so I can go on and get out of my whatever random babble it is I want to say. Of course, I’ll wipe my eyes, and take a deep breath and switch the screen over when my other half comes down the stairs. I’ll plaster on that smile that people understand, because what’s underneath is too hard for them to see, not for me.
I’ll go back to being that person who forgot what happened.
I still haven’t told people my dad is dead. None of the people who know me in life, know he is gone. I mean, of course anyone close to me, my family do, but friends, people I stop and chat with, have a coffee with, have the odd meal with. They don’t know. Every time I see them, I think to say it. But the more time goes on, the harder it is because how do you tell someone, yeah, my father died over two years ago, and I never told you.
I still have his name programmed in my phone and when his mother calls me from the house, my phone announces, Dad is calling. For that split second, my mind jolts and my heart skips.
I think my dad’s death goes in the same box with everything else labelled, things I can’t talk about. Not that I can’t. More it is people can’t listen to. It’s such a terrible situation. I must listen to endless days of the same conversations. What shoes someone has, what they had for dinner, what’s on the television, what the government is doing now, it goes on and on, but if I were to mention my thing more than once, I see that awkwardness in their expression. I see them not knowing what to say, but worse, I feel that I am complaining, that I am going on and on and eventually I know, they’ll be sick of hearing it and tune off. On their breaths are the whisperings of just get over it.
You know what I realise about any kind of child abuse? The times they happened weren’t so bad. Each event, they came, they went. It’s living with it that’s the problem. Because even now, even after all this time, I’m still as silent as I was as a child. The only difference now is people know.
JD Stockholm. 
What you just wrote & described is exactly how I feel about my past with my family, not my children but my older family, siblings, aunts, uncles & cousins. The ones that knew something was wrong but in that day & age it was acceptable. It’s easier for them to either pretend it never happened or that I don’t exist. So, I stay silent to keep the peace.
Those of us that love you absolutely NEVER think you are complaining. You know I tell people that I have this incredible friend that has to deal with horrific memories, but that doesn’t stop him from being a wonderful person! I know I can’t change anything but I am here for you! ALWAYS!!! 💖
It’s hard to put into words how I feel.. it’s not like we are truly “friends”. We have crossed paths in each others journey of this thing we call life. I have read your story and it broke my heart. I know that I could never actually be there for you.. but I do carry a piece of you in my heart. That little boy and the man you are today. Your words touch me.. often. I wish I could hug you.. it would probably make you cringe though. Haha but know, I did as I read your passage. ♥️
No lectures this time. No long drawn out soapbox speech… because you know how I feel, but I must say this small thought.
Not Babble.
And I don’t think you’re silent; if you were, these blogs would not exist. Your books would never have been written. And most of all, you would not have learned that you could be loved, no matter your past. What a shame that would be, if none of those things ever occurred.
By doing those things, (believe it or not) you allowed yourself to begin to heal … I believe so anyway. Not to mention, how many others you’ve helped to know that they’re not alone.
Perhaps even saved a life, or two. I know one for sure… as well as my own.
I only wish those things could give you the strength you need to do whatever it takes to heal.
Like it or not, you are always in my prayers … have been since the day(night) you shared everything. You’re always in my thoughts as well. Every. Single. Day.
The conversations we used to have, are still very fresh in my memory… no matter how long ago they were. I could listen then, and I can listen now. NMW.
Always just a click away… but you knew that.
I love you… you knew that too.
Hug. ღ
I am sorry that you feel sharing your experiences gets an awkward or negative reaction from those you chose to tell.
What they all said, plus I love you and i’m here for you xx
I really can’t imagine what it was like for you other than what you wrote in your books, I imagine it was so much worse, but just know I will always be here for you, whenever or if you need to talk about anything, I am a good listener, your story or should I say life, broke my heart, I think of you every day, especially if you have been quiet in the group chat, I worry about you constantly, we all love you, please remember that ❤️
Crazy Lady alert 😜 press delete or you can read on at your own risk😁
I have to say I like hearing your thoughts on things, all things, they are interesting always.
Abuse in any form should be discussed more openly, and you are right you don’t hear about the adults who grew up from the abuse they endured. I think it’s the culture of silence, the survivours are battling away on their own private battle fields and they then don’t have the strength always to fight for the right to be heard in the daily world. So they stay silent and move quietly it’s wrong they deserve the right to a voice. An accepting safe place.
I think with regards to people not wanting to remind, what they might mean is they don’t want to distress they don’t want to be that person who jogs you when you’re having a great day and suddenly it dumps you back in the dark corner you’ve managed to step out of for that moment of light, so they tip toe, side step and kid glove.
But nope not me if you want to chat I’m happy to, I talk with my mum about things, also I’ve chatted with my mother in law when she was alive, no great surprise that abuse seems to be everywhere in many families, if I have anything in my capacity to help you I will, my door will always be open.
I think you develop coping strategies. You never forget, and everything cycles. I think the idea is to get to a point that you can order the mind in a way that you can place things in the right place, on the abusers. The work is in telling yourself you are right, you are worthy, you didn’t deserve what happened, it is OK to feel the way you do, you matter, you are valid in your feelings, and most importantly you are believed. It will never leave you but hopefully it will calm. It is a life sentence and that is so unfair. What you have to do is keep fighting for your life because it is worth fighting for. And those tears don’t hold them in let them out don’t hold anything in let it flow out, it needs to flow, deserves to flow.
In regards to your dad’s death – don’t say anything, why do you have to? Take the pressure off yourself, if it comes up in conversation let it don’t force it, it’s no one’s business but yours.
You keep going along your path JD great things are on their way❤️
On reading this back I’ve just realised that I don’t use we but they, seems some of us still haven’t acknowledge things, so you’re one step ahead there.
It is very wrong that people dont understand this needs to be talked about even over and over again. Its the lived nightmare indelibly etched within…
Every time you share a piece of your truth, I feel like it’s a really hard thing for you. And I could be wrong… but I feel like a little piece of you gets healed by getting that piece of abuse,, out of your being… and shared it with the people who aren’t going to judge you,, or,,,pick at your wounds , just because they know the words to use to hurt you. But instead of re-suffering, your starting to share……What used to be falling,,, back down a mountain, and becoming that little boy, your learning to,, trip forward,,,giving yourself coping skills.. People like us that aren’t confrontational when someone is being mean . Our minds will think about it,,, to death.. Sometimes I wish I could be mean instead of losing myself or days of sleep thinking things to death…. But at least we’re wise..yep. going to have to think about that….
You can have friends for years that don’t know a thing about you because they only want to talk about themselves. If these friends really knew you, they’d ask about your dad. They could a little shallow. I know I used to pick friends simular to what I grew up with because they were familiar. When I realized this, I’d test them by not calling. Found out they were friends but I was doing all the work in our friendship.. Now,,,I just chat with our circle and my family.
Thank you for sharing.
What everyone else said. And I agree; there is a part of past abuse that always stays with you. I still have nightmares almost every night that, somehow, my dad has come back to life, and my family and i are stuck in this prison like house with him. I really appreciate you sharing your feelings and experiences with us. It makes me feel less alone.
I just want you to know that I am here always. If you ever need to yell, scream, or just talk. It never goes away, it happened to you. I’m sorry that people don’t understand. I think in today’s society that people are afraid to talk because they don’t have the answers and don’t know how to fix it. Some don’t understand that just talking helps they don’t have to have the answers.
You are an amazing person, and a true warrior! I know we have never personally met but I want you to know that I think of you every day and send healing thoughts and hugs to you. You are an incredibly stong person.
When my mom died I was 20, I didn’t tell a lot of my friends for a long time. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I was heartbroken but, I didn’t want their pity, the looks. We all deal with grief differently.
Stay strong my friend!
💜💜
Monica Reed
As always, you are going to hear two things from me: I love you and I am always here to listen.
You are on a journey where discussion of the beginning of that journey is considered taboo. I was on a similar journey when my son committed suicide. Talking about it openly is taboo. But I did not listen that that sentiment. I spoke out bravely. I think that really helped me heal. The loss is still there, but the pain is more distant. Keep talking about the beginning of your child-abuse journey. Share it with the people you love. They won’t think less of you. They’ll be amazed, as I am, by the loving, caring, multi-talented man you’ve become. They’ll love you more and you will heal more.
Hugs and love and, yes, prayer for your continued healing.💙💙
I was abused by my stepmother and my mother. I experienced all variety of abuse… I was recently have identified that I have repressed many memories probably due to the degree of the abuse. Abuse was not spoken of by the young to anyone as wasn’t everyone getting treated at home the same way? Back then in my families world that is how we thought. Public image was one picture and behind doors it was the opposite. We never knew the difference. Now it is so different which on one hand is positive, but on the other hand there is a need for discipline which there is a fine line.
There is nothing that can come close to helping one ‘get over it’ or ‘ move on’. In some form the abuse memories pop up when you least expect it.
I relate so much to the feelings you expressed so well here. I have felt this struggle. You have brought to words the feelings I haven’t always known how to express.
It’s so sad and true but I will always tell my truth and I’m almost at the point where I don’t care if my family hates me I know what the truth is.
I’m at the second book of dear teddy. I am a mother myself, who was abused as a kid. Not so severely. I’m just shocked that the teachers didn’t see or care. And what about your nan? In my opinion, she could have done something, anything. What you went trough is so appalling that it’s hard to read. But I do. I hear your story. I care. And just so you know, it makes me hug my kids more. I’ll always remember your life story and do my best to notice other kids who might be abused. You’re loved.
Moonika.