Family Dynamics & Secrecy

From my experience, telling my family about my abuse and living with their response was definitely the most difficult thing I’ve ever endured. Yes, the actual abuse is a masterpiece of destruction and nothing can compare to the horrific world that encapsulates, but, and a big ‘BUT’ is how destructive it can be by the way your family respond or don’t respond!

I lived a very secret life, a life of which jumped between two minds, two hearts, two smiles, two places of safety, two moods, two spirits...I was completely under his spell for what felt like my entire youth and for my first 15 years he was free to roam in a world where he was unfound as a monster by his family, friends and his community. He was regarded as a decent enough father, and held high regard casting from the hearts of extended family members. Remember this person is still undisclosed for the ludicrous protection of one person. Quite the ironic subject I chose to write about which is in direct relation to the heading. I do however, vow to revisit this in time. I must also make note of this being a perfect example of how a secret can become the catalyst of total submission, simply driven by immense fear of others expectations and selfish repercussions.

Often this pressure to keep your mouth closed is governed by a group of people. A castration of choice! My well tempered disposition rose from out of nowhere around the age of 11 or 12 where the rapes stopped and my body was finally, all mine. Of course it was much to his disgust but who was I to give a fuck about what he thought. The years of pent up anger had surfaced with a blow he never saw coming. This strength, was now my impenetrable armour. This particular day was a major turning point for me. I was 14 and a half. He concocted a well thought out plan where I was to mow their lawn while the other family members were out shopping. I loved mowing lawns and it was a job I begged my Dad to do from age 8 or 9 resulting in years of resistance from Dad. Reason being, deemed unsafe? It probably was? I finished mowing the lawn and was rewarded with a special occasion afforded by him, set up in the backyard caravan. I now had boobs and that was cause for celebration! He’d made sandwiches which were neatly presented on the table. He sat on the outside of me in one of those L shaped bench seats that curl around the table. He ushered me to drink the bourbon and coke he’d made for me earlier....what the fuck was he thinking. Far out, I was 14!! I’d never drank in such a sophisticated way, only the occasional sip from Dads beer. KB cans to be precise. (probably where my love of beer stems from). I didn’t hesitate in declining the drink. Now when I think back to that day, I’m almost convinced he put drugs in that glass. Times had changed a lot since my toddler and pre-teen days. I wriggled to free myself from the claustrophobic corner seat. The feeling was all too familiar and I wanted to run for my life. I managed to get to my feet without much resistance. At this point I’m standing with my back to the bed. His 6 foot plus broad brute stands in front of me. Perfectly planned! He uses all kinds of sexually suggestive vocab while his hands moved to my waist and kissed me. (This description is loose and without the depth of his capabilities on this particular day as I don’t want to digress from the subject matter.) A short time later I decided to tell my Mum. I remember like it was yesterday. I came straight out with it and from this point on everything seemed to go so fast. An undisclosed person rang the Police. I was thankful they were involved. Statements were given, Rape Crisis Centre visit, DOCS (Department of Community Services), DOCS and more DOCS. It was a very stressful time, foreign, yet a comfortable place having the secret out (somewhat). We had a Christmas party at our house with most of the extended family where Mum told her two sisters (in my presence). It was a massive day. As heavy as one could imagine as we all digested the long locked secrets and there coming to life. They believed me and the only reason I say this is because so many people who disclose their abuse are not believed. In my opinion, it would be safe to say that most people who doubt the truth would actually believe a victim/survivor but it’s too much of an inconvenience...there would be very little people who would concoct something so immensely painful backed by a justice system that favours the perpetrator and the tumultuous pressures to keep quiet by family members that are a highly common statistic. Remember I’m still 14. I ended up sneaking beers and swigging straight bourbon throughout the night of the Christmas party with my friend. The same friend I told after the caravan incident. So this was the first time ‘drunk’ entered into my life. I was so drunk, I couldn’t stand. The walls were holding me up as I bounced between them. I vomited my little heart out. I slept in it, under it, above it, and tucked it under my bed spread. It was all over the floor and seemed to land mostly on my shiny purple over the shoulder bag. Dad made me get up in the early hours and hose the bag on the clothes line and clean all of my drunken reminders. You must be wondering where I’m going with this story? I asked myself the same question hundreds of time. In relation to family support it pretty much stops right here. Nothing happened. Charges against him were never laid due to family pressure, even though it was against my own desires. I would have loved nothing more to have punished him in a court of law, seen him pay for what he did to me for eight years, and know that I forcibly stopped him from doing this to anyone else? Instead there were people to protect. Effectively, lips were sealed, hearts turned off, ears blocked and discouragement with the words, ‘just let it go’ became my constant reflection. The demise of my happiness had begun.... I lived the majority of my life with a feeling of emptiness and loneliness. Apart from the odd discussion with a friend once or twice a year (except for one of the hardest times in my life affecting a dear friend Kerry), I had no one to share my fears, to hold me when I cried, to remove me from my hell, to tell me ‘everything is going to be ok’. Such a cliche saying but it’s all I ever craved to hear as a teenager. The one reliable support person I did find around age 17 or 18 was my Counsellor, Maria Orr from Anglicare in Wollongong. She was the only constant in my life who was always there for me. Never swayed, always welcoming and was the first human in my life to really care about me (in a true professional manner). If you read this Maria, please excuse my bad language!! She challenged me, laughed with me, cried with me, hugged me, equipped me with so many emotional tools that I still draw upon constantly and she was ever so good in handing my the tissue box. I saw Maria on and off over a period of 10 years and far out, I know I would've been a hard nut to crack. I was as fucked up as any drug addict begging for more. I was as reckless and as lost and my self worth was too often dancing across a precipice of carnage. I hated myself and my secret. I was alone and desperate to salvage my life by erasing my memories of rape after rape but I soon realised that was impossible. I couldn't accept that though. I tried hard to numb my mind, joining the drug dependent people in their plight to self sabotage with the use of alcohol and other drugs. The only difference was I hid my pain well. I became my own worse nightmare. I joined the club of denial and sat alongside the family members and took their advice. I shut the fuck up and I carried on as if I were happy and content and accomplished. My god, what a bad decision that was. I punished myself for being sexually assaulted over 200 times and said goodbye to the little girl Tara. The innocent harmless little girl who still hadn't learned to read. The only one who needed intervention. Who needed to be heard and protected and loved. I too, turned my back on her. My Mum, is and was a beautiful person. She worked her guts out for my Sister and I and was very loyal to my Dad. She ran a pretty manic household and managed to keep it together for most of the time. Her life was hectic and negative throughout most days living at home and keeping her head above water was definitely one of her constant challenges. I can identify why she chose NOT to tell my Dad, but I don’t understand it. Again, she was the back bone of our family for many years and put up with a lot and I believe she thought it was best for all of us at the time. As the years rolled into more years and more years, I can see why it became a sickening reminder to her. Easier to push it as far down as one could possibly manage. I’m know, wholeheartedly she regrets keeping this tight lipped. In hindsight it’s served none of us with the goodness a close family naturally hones. So stability, closeness and respect slipped away. In fact it’s been a wedge our family has long lived with, a darkness of silence with a string of resentment and reckless emotions. It’s such a shame. To our credit, I must say, we have become a very stable and functioning family of four. We are often catching up, talking on the phone, living as happily as can be. It will never be the same though... Jumping right out of my story now, I urge anyone going through this to be free once and for all, despite the pressures, the outcome, the what if's! There is nothing GOOD and DECENT about feeling oppressed. Forced to do atrocious acts against your will is the epitome of hell and to have that feeling prolonged by family members when you are the one being violated is an emotional repetition of those experiences. It’s a no brainer for me now and any non biased person would surely agree. Go with your heart, strive towards acting upon your inner most desires. Don’t allow the other voices to sway you like they always have, for it is your life, and your healing. To unravel the levels of wrong, you need to break through the lies and secrets and keep moving forward until your heart starts to beam with light. Turn off your filters and go forth, keep focus on yourself and the little person you want to heal and the adult you want to free.

If only I could string the best words together to convince every one of you to NEVER EVER keep abuse a secret. Any kind of abuse. Sexual, physical, emotional, financial...these perpetrators don't need protection through secrets even when they are family members. Victims do...And remember, Paedophiles are evil people. They are fixated on such horrendous acts that involve our children. Harbouring secrets will destroy people and ultimately protect Paedophiles. It's a simple as that. You are NOT protecting the victims (a blog all about this....coming soon). Just look at my story for hard evidence. I am with you, I’ll be walking alongside you. For I am in the throes of telling my Dad as I type. Perhaps only 3 weeks away? I’m probably three months away from my website going live, so as I sit here casting advice and suggestions, please know I’m standing in the same arena as you. I say what I mean, how I truly feel and like a blind man standing in front of the most beautiful woman, I am as vulnerable and living in the unknown as the next person. The unknown awaits me, almost excites me...although simultaneously, I’m a nervous wreck. I’m not doing this alone. I have a support network in every corner. Well, the very few people I’ve chosen to share this with anyway. Telling my Dad is the next biggest step since confronting my abuser when I was 21, 21 years ago. I am bursting to ‘come out’! I hope to see you on the other side too x (obviously I’ve since told my Dad...head over to the blog - Telling My Dad)