Although I consider myself an open book, there are certain things about myself I don't share as openly (and certainly not publicly,so this will be a first) and easily. For this very reason, it is all the more important for me to write about here....especially given the news I received on September 9, 2009.
Incest is one of those topics in society that is rarely talked about (even amongst family members) unless it is forced upon by legal involvement, such as CPS or other social services related systems. Unfortunately, society's tendency to push such "secret" things under the rug only proves more damaging to the incest victim's sense of shame and pain all the more. Society tends to focus on the "victim" archetype without accurate and helpful attention on how one can transform to that of a "survivor," a process that calls for courage, strength, resiliency, opportunities for spiritual growth, and most importantly forgiveness....with oneself and the perpetrator. Many victims of sexual abuse struggle for years with these very real issues, if they even work through them at all. I am relieved I am in the minority.....a survivor, not a victim.
Even so, it was not certainly not easy. Forgiveness for me didn't happen in one single moment, but rather through a series of critical situations throughout my life.
It happened on a summer evening when I was 7 years old. My cousin couldn't have been more than 13 or 14 years old at the time. I blocked it from my memory until I got to be about the same age. Two events occurred which brought it flooding to my awareness. It was my cousin's visit to our house around the holidays (I felt uncomfortable being around him and I didn't know why) and the topic of incest and sexual assault in my middle school sex ed class that triggered the painful, shameful, and repressed memory I had buried for several years.
Sitting in the bathroom crying and frozen with an inability to get the words out for what felt like an eternity, I finally broke down and told my mother. I begged her not to tell anyone, fearful of possible recrimination. A part of me thought it (the pain and shame) would just go away simply because I was able to tell someone about it, but this was not to be the case. It was only the beginning of my healing process. Other than talking to my mom about it now and then, it was going unaddressed....until high school.
Shortly after we moved to Texas, my mom took me to a hypnotherapist for treatment. At the time, I remember going into it feeling like this kind of treatment was going to be hokey and unhelpful. Surprisingly, it wasn't. While it did help me release and come to peace with some emotions, however, I wasn't 100% "cured" by the experience. I still struggled with issues of self-worth, particularly in regard to relationships and sex. I was unable to fully experience either one until my twenties, a late bloomer to most societal standards. Other than the visit to the hypnotherapist, I never received counseling to help me with this issue. All the demons I faced were on my own courageous volition, through self-help tools and literally face to face.
After I graduated college, another cousin (the brother of "the" cousin) generously offered to help me move from my college apartment to my mom's in Reno, Nevada. This entailed a road trip from a little hill country near Austin, Texas to Phoenix, Arizona (where my uncle and two cousins were all living together at the time). The plan was for us to get from TX to Arizona, and from there my uncle and I would make the drive from AZ to NV because my uncle was moving to Reno too. It was truly a catch-22. I wondered why God was doing this to me. Why would God put me in a situation, knowing I would be face to face with someone who damaged my spirit at 7 years old? At the same time, I didn't have a choice. I had to move and I refused to be gripped by fear. I also had this feeling that if I didn't confront the situation, it would be as if my cousin had "won" somehow.
I wondered how it would all go down. I knew my cousin knew I had told someone because my mom had talked to my uncle about it at some point. My uncle had then asked/talked to my cousin about it. Yet, no one had ever talked to me or asked me how I felt...ever. Any and all talk around this issue between family members took place behind my back. Or by secondhand information my mom told me later on down the road. I was never included in any of those conversations, something to this day I honestly still don't understand. I think it all goes back to family secrecy and uncomfortability bringing up such a difficult topic, especially with the survivor.
We arrived in Arizona in the wee hours of the morning. I was relieved my cousin was asleep so I could avoid seeing him, but I could only postpone the inevitable for so long. When I awoke and made my way down the stairs later that morning, my heart was racing with fear. What do I say to him? Do I wait and see what he says to me? How will I act around him? How do I pretend to be comfortable and "normal" around him? These were the thoughts that raced through my mind. I remember he was in the kitchen. After a few minutes of hanging out in the kitchen and neither one of us saying anything to one another (he was talking to someone else in the room), I realized it was going to have to be me to break the silence. I didn't want to be the bigger person, but I did anyway. It was just small talk of course. I think he was just as uncomfortable as I felt, yet it angered me that I was the one having to interact with someone who hurt me and never apologized, let alone hadn't acknowledged what he did. Still, my spiritual belief that "everything happens for a reason" provided me the strength and sustenance to get through the distressing experience. I thought that was enough to help me heal and grow. It had definitely given me alot to reflect on. I didn't want it to negatively impact my sense of self anymore.
While it took awhile to forgive my cousin, I was finally able to do this when the opportunity presented itself a few years ago....again, in Arizona. My uncle had died and the family had come together for a memorial. I knew my cousin would be there because my uncle was his father. I felt like I had grown alot and healed from my past trauma, but it's hard to know for sure until you are immersed back into a situation with the person. I knew this would be the "test" that would show me whether or not this person was still affecting me or not. During the time I was in Arizona for the memorial, I was around him at a family barbecue and I was ok. The morning of the day I left Arizona, the family went out for breakfast. I felt compelled to give him a hug before we parted ways from the restaurant. I did it for myself and it felt good to know there was no more anger and pain in my heart. I had completely forgiven.
What does all of this have to do with the news I received on September 9, 2009? Well, my cousin was not one to take care of his health. He was overweight and he did not properly take care of his diabetes with healthy diet, exercise, or insulin. He had gone at least partially blind and one of his toes had to be removed in years past, thus he has been in poor health for some time. It caught up with him on Wednesday morning. He had a heart attack and all his organs shut down. He died at the age of 37 years old. When my mom told me the news over the phone that day, I was in shock. Part of me was shocked that he died so young. The other part of me was glad that I wasn't happy or relieved. Horrible to say, but many years ago I thought the only way I could let go of what happened to me was by thinking it would all be "buried" and forgotten if he died. All I felt after I heard the news though was sadness and compassion all at the same surreal time. Sad that he didn't take care of himself. Sad for my other cousin who lost both his father and brother in a few years time of each other. Sadness for my cousin who likely never forgave himself....and yet compassion for my cousin. And myself.
My cousin, unbeknownst to him, taught me the power of forgiveness and spiritual strength like no one else in my life.
Rest in peace, Jody. I am.
