So it’s going on 4am and I am really, really tired and really, really dreading the fact that by 10am the day is going to begin all over again, but I really, really want to get this out. So here we go.
Today (yesterday — Tuesday) Dan stopped by Advance Auto Parts on his way home from work to pick up the parts needed to fix my mom’s mini-van. I don’t remember if I mentioned this before (I think I did), but her mini-van broke down back on JUNE 6th, and she has been borrowing my car ever since. Didn’t bother to buy the replacement parts (six spark plugs, distributor cap, and some kind of wiring — ignition?) then, that week, when she still had money (she receives disability and SSDI for my brothers on the 1st and 3rd of each month). She didn’t bother to in July, either. So yeah, Dan and I got sick of waiting and figured August wouldn’t be any different, and decided to buy the parts ourselves.
As if $65 is really going to hurt us. At this point she’s had my car for almost two months, going on $150 worth of gas, and a lot of food and cleaning products and other things that I stopped counting the total value of at $300 several weeks ago. Sigh.
But of course popping open the hood of the mini-van, which has been sitting and collecting dust in our driveway since June when me, my brothers and a friendly neighbor pushed it from the road, couldn’t be that simple. My mom lost the fob and key to the mini-van back around the 4th of July. Of course the key she “misplaced” is the only one she has. It and the fob are actually spares — she lost the original set several years ago, and never bothered to have duplicates made. Dumb beyond belief, I know.
So she’s accusing ME of being the last one to have the key. Not the case, as I calmly and patiently explained to her. The last time she had the key was on July 2nd. She was over here, and we all went out. She took the key to get something out of the mini-van… and that was that. She’s thinking she gave it back to me, but she didn’t. But just to appease her, and rule out the slight chance that I might in fact have gotten the key back at some point, I checked in our car (and told her to check in mine), and checked the three places here in the house I would have put the key for safekeeping: one of the cabinets in our kitchen, our hutch, and the top of my computer tower (I even checked behind and underneath it, in case it fell). No key, of course.
So I’m pissed. It’s not even about the money at this point. I just want my CAR. I’m sick and tired of being trapped like a fucking rat when Dan is at work. It sucks having Ryan’s therapists come over and not be able to go out and do anything in the community with them, since it’s against some major rules for them to transport clients and their families in their personal vehicles. It sucks having to arrange the things I need to do around Dan’s work schedule (and come racing back like an idiot so he isn’t late for work), or on his days off. It sucks, sucks, sucks.
And my car is trashed. I gave it to my mom all pristine — I had just washed and vacuumed it THAT DAY. Last week I cleaned out a shopping bag’s worth of trash and junk from my car, and that didn’t even cover the ground up M&M’s and Skittles.
I. WANT. MY. CAR.
And I’m getting it. I told her a week ago that Dan and I would be getting the parts, and to look for the key. When I called her around 4:30pm on Tuesday afternoon she hadn’t yet looked for it, because she had a headache. Of course. There’s always something.
Anyway, I’m getting the car on Thursday evening. The Hyundai’s inspection is due as of August 1st, but because we have specialty tires to order, we’re not going to be GETTING the inspection until at least the 10th. And we’re not driving around with expired inspection tags. So we’re picking up my car. And she’ll just have to deal. Look for the damn mini-van key, call a taxi, or ask the boys’ therapists and other agencies that are working with her to figure out transportation. I’m tired of this.
Now. *deep breath* The other thing on my mind. I’m going to put it behind a cut, because it’s sensitive and triggering (sexual abuse) material.
I was sexually molested by a trusted person. Specifically, the husband of my mother’s best friend. Gwen had been a co-worker of my mom’s for many years, so it was only natural that they became good friends — best friends. Their friendship went back to when I was really little, so by the time I was eight seeing Gwen and her husband Charlie every now again at our house, their house and at restaurants for lunch and dinner was a normal thing. Gwen was really nice and always had a little something for me, and Charlie was funny, cracked jokes, and was willing to play video games with me.
I began developing a little early. By fourth grade I was in training bras, and later on, in seventh grade, I was a C cup. I had pubic hair before I was out of elementary school, and my period when I was twelve. Etc., etc.
I don’t know when it started, I can’t pinpoint an exact moment in time or situation when Charlie and I were alone, but I do know that the molesting began to happen frequently — he would find a way to get me alone, just for a few moments, almost every single time we all got together for socializing or a meal. I think it started when I was around ten, but it may have been sooner. Again, I can’t nail down anything specific in terms of dates or even years.
This isn’t something I have ever really talked about. Dan knows in terms of who and when and how I was molested, but there were no gritty details. To be honest with you, there were no gritty details because aside from the smell of his cologne or the sickening feeling in my stomach that I still get today when I think about it, I didn’t remember them.
Until early Tuesday morning, around 5am. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, the memories came rushing back, seemingly out of nowhere.
I used to love puzzles. I could spend hours reading, writing in a notebook, or doing puzzles. I was on 100 piece and 500 piece puzzles by the time I was ten. I never did get around to working on a 1000 piece puzzle, and I think that’s because Charlie got to me first.
(I feel sick, hot, flushed and cold remembering all of this, and writing all of this. But it’s something I need to get out, so I am going to continue.)
I remember that Gwen and Charlie had a finished basement: carpeting, lighting, light wood paneling, a couch, and a huge dog bed in a corner for their dog, a doberman (I don’t remember the dog’s name, but I do remember that she was huge and friendly, and I liked to go into the basement to visit with her).
(I really feel like I’m going to vomit. It’s horrible to know that even with eleven years between the last incident and now, the memories of what happened can still affect me that deeply.)
That was one way he often got me. One of the very first times when I really realized what was going on, it was in the basement. He had touched me before, but in more subtle ways: He would tickle me, but his hands would slide up my sides to my breasts and over my nipples. Or he would go to pick me up to toss me around, and his hands would go between my legs, under my butt, towards my vagina. Or he would move behind me to reach for something or get something, and press just a little too close.
But this time, it was obvious. Way obvious. We were alone. I had been down in the basement alone, playing with the dog. She settled down to sleep, so I walked over to look at some puzzles on the wall. They were huge, impressive: 1000 pieces or more, all carefully put together, glued together, then mounted and framed. One was of Michael Jackson. Another of Martin Luther King. Another some kind of landscape whose details I don’t really recall. As I was tracing my fingers over the connecting pieces, Charlie came down, came up behind me. Pressed right up against me, tightly enough that I could feel his erection against my back and butt. I remember his hands coming around me to grab my breasts, and the way he moaned against my ear.
(I’m so glad my stomach is empty.)
After that it happened more frequently, with more direct contact. Under a blanket if I was on the couch and he came over to tuck me in and hand me a pillow, in restaurant parking lots, in my room when he came upstairs under the guise of going to the bathroom, upstairs in their home when I went up to use the bathroom, etc.
I told my mom, not too long after the worst incident (described above: in the basement). She didn’t believe me, said Charlie was just being friendly and I was reading too much into it. Several months later I got hysterical one night when we were supposed to meet them at their house after dinner. He had cornered me in an Olive Garden parking lot (I’ve been to Olive Garden maybe four times since, and never at my own suggestion), against my mother’s car. I went running back to her, crying. I think she believed me then. She told me to stay near her, to not go anywhere in their house alone or be upstairs alone when they were at our house.
We went to their house anyway. Despite me telling her, despite her saying she believed me. I had to go to the bathroom. I asked her to come with me. She got busy talking with Gwen, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I remember staring at the framed saying, “We aim to please. You aim too, please.” that hung next to the bathroom sink when Charlie came in.
In seventh grade, a few years after this had started, I reached my breaking point. We were still going to their house. They were still coming to our house. My mom wasn’t protecting me. She never told Gwen. She never told anyone. I told my grandparents. I remember them fighting with my mom, begging her to tell Gwen, to call the police, to keep me away. (My mom relays this story to me the other way around, as my grandparents being the one wanting to keep everything quiet. But I remember my grandmother crying and imploring my mom to do something, and my grandfather looking like he was ready to kill.)
My grades slipped. I began skipping classes, some days skipping school, or just refusing to go altogether. I wore black, copped an attitude, talked back. My mom took me to the doctor for a stern talking to, but it ended up with me breaking down in the room, and my mother being the one getting a lecture from the doctor for not helping me and protecting me.
It ended when we moved from Philadelphia, in October of 1999. I was in eighth grade. If we hadn’t have moved away, who knows how long it would have gone on for, before I really lost it, or before I started screaming whenever Charlie came near me, or before I told Gwen.
I wish to God I had stood up to Charlie. I wish I had told Gwen. I wish I had called the police. I wish I would have done something. He won, you know. Sure, I got away, but he won. Nothing happened to him. I have years of memories that I can’t erase, a lost hobby that I once loved but will never pick up again, and right now I feel so sick and miserable and I just want to cry and cry and cry, and scream and rage, but I don’t want to put Dan through all of that, because it won’t really accomplish anything.
Gwen and Charlie are a few years older than my mom, so it’s very possible that they have grandchildren. There could be other girls around that Charlie has access to. Should I tell someone? Who? The police? Do they even handle stuff like this that happened over a decade ago, when I was a child?
I’m thinking about even telling Gwen herself. My mom never wanted to upset her or jeopardize her friendship with her. I know Gwen’s last name, and the city she lives in (right outside of Philly). I don’t think it would be that hard to find her. But how the hell would I start a letter to her? “Dear Gwen, I’m writing to tell you that your husband molested me over the course of several years when I was a child.” Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh.
As for my mom… she denies any wrongdoing. She almost seems to want to bring it up and rub it in every little bit, by mentioning Gwen and wondering how Charlie is doing, or mentioning that he’s on dialysis and wonders if he’s even still alive (god I hope not), etc.
I don’t like physical contact with my mom (hugs, kisses on the cheek, etc.), and I’m now wondering if this is why. Maybe I don’t want to touch her or be touched by her because she let someone else touch me. I guess that makes sense. I just know that in the last five years I can count the number of times I have hugged my mom on one hand. I just can’t do it. It feels awkward, uncomfortable, and definitely not right.
Ugh. I feel emotionally drained. I’m so sorry this was so long. I’m sorry that this is upsetting. I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep it in, that I feel the need to share.
I need to go to bed. I need to unwind, drink something cool (or perhaps intoxicating), and then go to bed. I need to sleep. And hopefully not dream.
So we’re picking up my car. And she’ll just have to deal. Look for the damn mini-van key, call a taxi, or ask the boys’ therapists and other agencies that are working with her to figure out transportation.
^This, stick to this. Your expensive items (your car) should NOT get trashed just to help family out. It should be taken care of and she should be happy that you even lent her the car to HELP HER. She should have more respect for your property. Stick to this Jenn. You shouldn’t have to replace things of hers because she’s too lazy to do it herself or get it done. It’s very sad when you are even more of an adult than your own parent/s.
“He would tickle me, but his hands would slide up my sides to my breasts and over my nipples. Or he would go to pick me up to toss me around, and his hands would go between my legs, under my butt, towards my vagina. Or he would move behind me to reach for something or get something, and press just a little too close.”
“She didn’t believe me, said Charlie was just being friendly and I was reading too much into it.”
I don’t know if you’ll appreciate this or not, but reading this actually made me confirm and realize that I wasn’t just reading too much into it like my Dad said I was. That it wasn’t just his friend ‘being playful.’. It’s one thing for Jeremy to have told me no, he was abusing me, or feel that way, but to read that it happened almost the same way to someone else makes it different.
I’m not trying to connect or make it about me, but just, Thank you. I’m glad you were strong enough to write it out I wish I was, but there isn’t much to tell.
I would write the letter the same way you started it. Possibly include your whole blog in it. Let it be known, even if she doesn’t believe you, maybe she’ll see some signs if it’s still continuing.
First of all, with the car thing – she’s already majorly disrespecting you by allowing your car to get in that condition. Second, it’s no wonder she’s out of money if a huge portion of it goes into totally unnecessary shit (the Skittles & M&M’s, for one). Third, if she can’t deal with having to give up YOUR car because she can’t be fucking bothered to find a set of keys or she’s too stupid to ever have made duplicates, then that’s her problem. With the way your mother is treating you, you must be a saint to put up with her antics.
And with the sexual abuse, I’m so sorry you had to go through it. I can’t say I know how it feels, not having gone through it, but I can only imagine how incredibly horrible it must’ve been. *hugs*
And related – no offense (and I’ve said this before), your mother has some serious issues and her behavior has repeatedly hurt you. It was HER job as your parent to *protect* you. It’s the least she could’ve done and she didn’t do it. Instead, she sort of made you the one to blame by hushing it down and ignoring your requests because it was for her benefit to keep Gwen as a friend, I’d assume. Your mother needs help. She needs help before she hurts your brothers, if she hasn’t already. She has to have some sort of a serious personality disorder to enjoy rubbing something this serious and hurtful in your face – you’re her child! Have you ever considered taking a step back from her? I know it’s a difficult decision but I can say that cutting ties with my father to a bare minimum is the reason I’m still alive this day. Your mother is abusive – maybe not physically, but emotionally – just like my father was/is, and you don’t have to tolerate any of her BS. Your children don’t need a person like that around, who can say just about anything to get the upper hand. Alyssa doesn’t need that, Ryan doesn’t need that, you and Dan don’t need that. None of you deserve what she’s constantly throwing at you.
I’m surprised you’re as strong a person as you are today considering your past, or perhaps it’s *because* of your past that you’ve grown so amazingly strong. But do you want Alyssa to go through the same with your mother, when she’s a teenager? Do you want Ryan to be hurt by her? Your brothers, who already seem to have some issues?
I’m sorry if I’m stepping over boundaries here, since we’re not as such friends and I don’t know you or your family personally, but I’ve lived with two more or less terrible parents and my plethora of mental problems *all* stem from those two people who ruined my life from the get-go. It took me therapy and years of self-study to build up my self esteem from absolute zero and it still could use several years of help to become decent. I would hate to see the same happen to Alyssa and Ryan, by influence from their grandmother.
that sounds so annoying about your car. it does sound like your mum takes advantage of your generosity quite often
i guess it is hard not to help her since she is family, but still. it sounds like she needs to get off her butt and be a little more proactive about things.
about the abuse… ugh, it makes me so mad to think that there are disgusting people in the world like that jerk… really i think child abusers are the lowest form of life in existence. i’m not sure what you could do to take further action against him, but maybe there is a helpline or something you can talk to where you can find your options. if it was me, i would be worried he might do it to someone else, and i don’t think it is ever too late for those sort of actions to be punished. *hugs* <3 <3
finally, i have totally forgotten my login for your site! so if you see a registration from my email address pop up, it’s because i have sieve-brain.
I planned to comment before I read the cut bit, so firstly, you often seem to overstep boundaries and act so leniant with your mother. I mean I still believe none of us readers CAN judge on anything happening in your life, but the bits you’ve mentioned, ie. your mum and brothers eating food from the fridge while you guys went on a holiday, etc… even THAT was pretty shocking. You just don’t do something like that. And using your car for this long, not looking after it? Ouch. Hope you get it back hassle free, and hope you’re able to stand firmly by your ground.
Secondly… man. That is so tough. I would say go to the police, yes. Justice. And I’m sorry you’ve gone/going through difficult stuff like this.
Hugs.
Not only is Charlie to blame but your mother as well. This is the reason why I don’t speak to my mother. She is not in my life at all. It is the mother’s job to protect their child and not only did she fail but she doesn’t even seem to care.
Not only should Charlie be locked away but your mother as well.
I think Jonna, pretty much summed it up what I was about to say. You seriously need to do something with your mom. Step away if possible or confront her about these issues. You need to protect Alyssa & Ryan so she won’t be able hurt them (I know you’re doing your best as it is, you are a great mom!) in any way. Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not judging, I’m just worried and hate when people you love the most can hurt you the most too.
I was in a similar situation – b cup by 4 grade, pubic hair, etc. I had no friends really as a child, except for one little girl about 3 or 4 years younger than me. She was 5, I was 9. She lived with her parents in the same establishment as my sister and her husband.
I spent most of my time at my sisters since she “babysat” me, and since my sister and her husband were always drunk, I always went off with my friend. Like you, I don’t remember much, but then again, those who are sexually abused don’t usually remember the fine details. We block it out as a natural defense mechanism.
All I do remember is her parents always walking around naked, her mother making my friend and I take showers together as she watched closely and told us how to wash ourselves down THERE. For years I had the same dream almost every night, her father molesting my breasts and down below. Always the same exact dream, but I don’t remember it happening for real.. unless it did and it’s just a memory that would haunt me in my dreams. It’s no wonder that 98% of the time that my nipples are touched, I get a very uneasy and uncomfortable feeling rush over me. The very reason why I never chose to breastfeed.
My friend who was about 5 years old knew a lot more about sex than even I did being 4 years older. She would always touch her stuffed animals in their private places and pretend they were having sex.
The last memory I have of them is spending the night, her parents bribing me that if I stayed that they would buy me a barbie house in the morning, just like my friend had. I agreed to stay but remember very late at night being locked in my friends room alone, while I screamed and cried for hours begging to go home and they would not let me out.
A few days later I was riding my bike and I saw them leaving in their car packed up with all of their stuff. I stopped them and asked where they were going and they told me they were leaving and I wouldn’t be able to see my friend anymore.
I haven’t seen them since. I tried contacting them as a teen, to voice how I felt and possibly press charges, but I think they changed their names. It was like they dropped off the face of the earth. I felt so defeated.
If it’s possible for you to contact Gwen, I would. It may hurt a whole lot inside to have to go through everything in your mind again.. but it’s quite possible you will feel some type of relief after some time. Knowing you said something, protected their grandchildren if they have any, stuck up for yourself. Clean our your closet while you still can, is what I say.
I wish I had no idea how you feel, but unfortunately I do. I was raped by a friend of my best friend when I was 13. I told her, but she didn’t believe me and actually called me a whore to my face. He was 18. My parents never knew. They never found out. until I was 16. I was a wreck. I was depressed beyond belief, I cut myself, I could face people I had panic attacks several times a day, I would go more than a week without sleep and I had horrible nightmares. My mom was snooping through my things one day and found a journal I had. I had written an entry about what happened. She confronted me about it. She didn’t want to do anything. I had to BEG her to take me to get help. I told her if she didn’t help me I was just going to die because I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was diagnosed with manic depression, social phobia, anxiety disorder, ocd and panic disorder. They put me on paxil. I stopped taking it a year after almost to the day.
To this day certain things trigger the memories. My pregnancy is one of them.
I ended up getting pregnant from one of the times he raped me. My ex-best friend told him, when he found out he beat the living hell out of me. A few days later I had a miscarriage. Do you know what I told my mom when she saw me? I told her my friend and I had been out screwing around and got a little rough. She never questioned it. I couldn’t breastfeed my son because every time I tried it brought everything back. During my pregnancy with my daughter the memories consumed me. I’m so grateful for the midwives I had because they really helped me through it so I was able to breastfeed fumiko. It’s been 13 years and I STILL get sick over the thought of it, I still break down and cry, it still torments me.
When I found out I was pregnant, I broke down, because I was afraid I would have a boy. I love my son to death, but I can’t get close to him. I was so afraid that it would happen all over again. that I would bring someone into this world that I can’t get close to. You have no idea how relieved I was to have a girl.
It kills me that I can’t get close to my son, I can’t hug him or hold him, because of what happened. It doesn’t feel right, it makes me feel bad. I have such huge problems with males it’s not even funny. Even with my husband sometimes. I have nightmares still. Sometimes when we’re having sex the memories come back and I break down. It’s so hard. And worst of all my mom doesn’t understand. Even after all I’ve been through, she refused to acknowledge it, and when she does it’s “Oh what happened with that boy?”. That’s it. No comfort, no compassion, no trying to understand or even just hold me. I feel uncomfortable and uneasy when my mom tries to hug me, when she does. It feels strange to tell her I love her. And I do love her. I just can’t show it or say it, it feels wrong.
I don’t really know where this was going. I just wanted you to know that I know how to feel to a point, even with your mother. I don’t know what happened to the guy. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid. After being rejected by my best friend, the one person who should have been there for me, I didn’t know what to do. It haunts me to this day, to know that he’s probably still out there and God knows who else he’s hurt.
I don’t even know his name.
I could say I hope you feel better, and I truly hope you do, but I know it won’t make much of a difference. You won’t forget overnight, and neither will I. I just hope the memories fade for you, so you can put them behind you. I hope you deal with it better than I have.
The entire situation with your mom saddens me. I know that I am not there to see firsthand what happens, but seems to me that she should learn to better manage her time as well as budget her money. She should also quit taking advantage of yours and Dan’s kind hearts. I am a firm believer that you can only be asked for help so many times before you eventually have to start telling the person “no.”
And the issue below that? I don’t even know what to say other than I am so sorry that you had to go through something so horrifying. It is very sad that your mother continued taking you over there after you said something to her… I could not imagine ever putting my child through so much hell.
Hope you were able to get a good nights rest last night.
I’ve heard of 50+ year old women having men arrested and sent to prison for years and years because they abused her when she was a child. People take it seriously, no matter how many years have passed. If you would feel better with him being shamed for what he did and being punished for it, then it is possible. If he has grandchildren he does this to too, then you’d be saving them if they were the same as you and couldn’t save themselves.
My mum is considering having her brother (yeah, brother.) sent to prison for what he did to her when she was a child. She’d do the same to her dad too but he’s dead. Thank God. Her dad (I refuse to call him grandad or anything of the sort) did things that werent right to me when I was very young, but it only happened once so I don’t really know what you’re going through, but I find it hard to hug my parents either. I just feel sick when I do, and I have to make sure that only my arms or head touches them and nothing else.
-Hugs- xoxo
You know… I’m not close with my Mom either. I’m really not sure why though. But something you said kinda made me think. On the rare occassion that I do see her, hugging her feels awkward. Very awkward. I guess after all she’s done to me I can’t stomach her at times. It’s hard. But harder for you I’m sure. My Mom lives a few states away.
That must have been really hard for you to talk about. No one can tell you what you should do as far as telling someone goes. That’s entirely up to you. It could bring some sort of closure though?
I’m sorry that this happened to you. I truly am.
Dear God Jenn, I’m so sorry. My family is similarly fucked up, my mother packed us up and moved a state away because of all the molestation that was occuring within my family (a few of my cousins and my aunts husband didn’t understand boundaries, and would molest their sisters/cousins/daughters. Absolutely tragic.)
My only point is, tell Gwen. But don’t expect her to believe you. Be persistent. Even if you walk away knowing that she wasn’t the least bit effected (denial) at least you did your best to protect more innocent children from this monster. Then call the police, I don’t think the statute of limitations goes that far, but it’s worth finding out the details.
I’m so sorry you went through this, and I hope that bastard gets satans baby-raping treatment in hell.
It truly amazes me how well-adjusted and strong you are for someone with a mother like you have… and having experienced what you’ve experienced. You have every right in the world to be messed up, but you’re not. It’s so good to see!
This breaks my heart. I was never molested as a child but I have the same fears and reactions that you do because I was physically abused as a child. I am angry at my Mother for making me stay in a harmful situation, and sadly, I don’t know if I can ever forgive that. Thank you for sharing your story, you are a very strong person who deserves all the love in the world. And, you are a wonderful Mother. From my experience, I know that I can not change the past, but I can stop it from happening in the future. You can do the same with your two, beautiful children. Thank God (or whomever) that you do have the power to do that: to break the cycle of abuse because you are a strong, intelligent, wonderful person.
Hey Jenn,
I know exactly what you are going through. I am 31 years old and I to was molested by a family friend, His name is Johnny. He molested me from around age 4 to about age 10 or 11. I remember being forced to perform oral sex on him or play sexual games. I forgot all about it and started having flash backs after losing my virginity. I then realized what happened and started remembering other times he has touched me and it was the same as when it happened to you.
He’d brush up against me or his hand would slide up and down my thighs and close to my vagina. It’s so hard for me to show emotions and to this day I still sometimes flinch when my husband touches me. So I understand completely. It’s sad that this happened to you but one thing I have learned Jenn, if that he did not win. He’s a loser, you’re a winner.
I have been visiting your site for awhile and I really enjoy reading your blogs. You are a great mom, wife, and friend as I can tell. You are a good person and god will bless you. God will punish him just like he’ll punish Johnny. Just pray and even though it’s hard and it makes you angry, just know that one day he’ll get what he deserve.
Keep ya head up baby girl and even though I don’t know you, I am a great listener. Email me if you just need someone that understands and you can talk to. msladired@comcast.net
-hugs-
It makes me sick how prevalent molestation is. One of my cousins tried to molest my sister when she was young because she too developed early. My sister’s husband was molested by a family friend for several years when he was a kid.
You’re not alone. But you should do all you can to prevent this from happening to other people. You need to tell his wife, the police, anybody who will listen. You never know who will help you.
Hi Jenn,
I have never commented on your blog before but I have been following it for a while.
The courage you had in sharing your story is inspiring and I admire you in so many ways for being able to talk openly about this in spite of the lack of support you recieved.
I just want you to know if you ever need to talk to someone http://www.rainn.org the (the rape abuse and incest national network that links rape crisis centers all over the nation together) has had an online hotline for about a year.
I;ve been volunteering with the rainn online hotline (OHL) as we call it… and I just want you to know that nothing is too silly to come and talk to someone about… if you ever feel yourself having a flashback we can be there for you.
right now our hours are 10am-4amEST every day. by the fall we will be 24/7.
Personally, I wish i had this service when I was going through the trauma of my own rape… so I just thought that if you didnt know of this service you could maybe check it out in the future should you think you may need it.
take care and stay strong!
(also please feel free to contact me by email if you want more info)
Take your car back, it’s yours, you gave her fair warning. It’s time for her to “grow up” and find her own transportation.
With that said I’m not sure I should even say anything else because I’ll probably offend someone if I really get started. Jonna summed it up pretty good, but I’m just so hurt for you right now. I want to scream, cry, and throw something just knowing that any girl has to go through this. Or boy for that matter. It’s one thing to have a predator, it’s another not to be protected. You must have felt so helpless.
You can take two things away from this. You can always be the mom that protects your children and you can be the mom that their friends feel comfortable with telling things to if they get in trouble or someone is hurting them. There needs to be more people like that in this world to make up for people like your mother.
I honestly don’t know how you do so much for this woman knowing that she will bring them up and wonder if he’s still alive? Next time tell her you hope not, you hope he’s had to answer for what he did to you and god knows who else.
BY ALL MEANS TELL HIS WIFE. I don’t care if he’s dead or she’s on her death bed. You tell it!!!! No matter how stupid it sounds to you at first when you start writing it, it will do you a world of good.
This breaks my heart, Jenn. You are such a strong inspirational woman!
Wow, Jenn. <3 <3 <3
Lots of love,
Bekah
-xxx-
I’m sorry to hear about your abuse. It’s sad what some grownups do to children. It’s sick!
Maybe it might help your nightmares if you confront him. Usually people who have past issues with another person would go back and confront them and it doesn’t haunt them anymore.
About the car, you need to put your foot down. It’s YOUR car, not HERS. So what if her car isn’t fixed yet? That’s not YOUR problem.
As for the other part, *hugs*. I don’t know if you can tell the police this long after the fact, but definitely tell Gwen. You have to.
It’s your Mom’s responsibility to have the van fixed, so if she’s complaining about giving up YOUR car, she needs to suck it up and get over it. After all, it’s not YOUR problem – only HERS.
WOW Jenn. About the sexual abuse. I’m kind of speechless on that part. I must say, he sounds like sick and corrupted individual. I do say, tell the police before he does this (hopefully he hasn’t) to another child. Gwen needs to know about this. Maybe after all these years, they can do something before it gets worse, it can be reported to the police, and he can be dealt with.
I agree with everyone else. It is not your problem that your mother did not get her car fixed. It is not your problem that she did not have duplicates made. Why should you and your family have to suffer so that she has a ride? And the fact that she did not take care of YOUR car speaks volumes of her as a person. It was not her property to destroy or make unclean. Take back your car, you gave her a warning, you gave her notice.
As far as the molestation goes, just know it is not your fault. You did not ask for it because you had “developed early.” That does not make it right and it is not an excuse for you to blame yourself. Please stop thinking because you had developed earlier that this is somehow your fault. That man had problems and it stemmed from himself. No one has any right to touch you unless YOU want to be touched. This goes for a neighbor who rests their hand on your arm as you talk, a coworker goofing around that hugs you or even your husband wanting some sex. If YOU say no, it MEANS no. Your mother let you down back then and yet you are still at her whim because it’s a convienience for her. It was a convienience for her not to tell the wife or go to the police back then because it would have involved too much work, too much effort; just like it’s too much of an inconvienience for her to look for her keys or to have bought the items necessary to fix her own vehicle.
I think the statue of limitations have warn off – however, you should really see a counselor. If nothing was done to help you then, help yourself now. Be the best Jenn you can, and fight for what you believe in (as hokey as that sounds!) Instill in your children the rights and wrongs of the world and teach your children the power of self-esteem. No one has the power to make you feel inferior without your consent.
I wish you the best of luck.
I cried when I read beyond the cut. Not because it triggers any memories for me, but because of how your mother handled the situation. Parents, especially mothers are supposed to be protecting their children. And for something like this to happen to anyone and the parents do nothing to correct it just infuriates me. I don’t understand that about some mothers; I grew up with parents who would cover my ass, even if they knew I was wrong (then tell me not to do it again). I can’t believe that there are some who dismiss something as serious as this.
*hugs*
Your new theme wins!
I’m sitting here thinking about what to write in response. I have nothing new to add, everyone above has taken the words that I was thinking.
With the whole car thing, take back what is rightfully yours. Plus like many have mentioned before cut your ties, or loosen the slack with your communication with your mother. Perhaps try limiting interaction to once a month, and phone calls to once a week only. This is something you keep saying that you want to do, just have the strength to let her phone calls go to your voice mail and do not answer (you could always listen to the message right away and judge for yourself as to when to phone her back) It will take a lot of work to do but once you get yourself into a routine you’ll be fine! Plus not having your own car as you said makes Ryan’s therapy sessions not as top notch as they should be. Being out in the community you are not a prisoner in your own home.
I’m sorry that your mother never fully believed you when you were younger. I do encourage you to go and speak to a professional, or even someone at one of those phone in helplines. They could help you not only emotionally but also assist with pointing you in the right direction if you want to report it.
Perhaps you could write the letter to the wife, though it is up to you to mail it out. Plus writing a letter to Charlie it could prove therapeutic and help you with your continuing healing process. Just dropping the letter into a mailbox, with no addresses or return address. I’m just thinking of some form of healing at the top of my head. I am no way a professional of any sorts in this area. I just think it would be a good part of a healing process as I always find writing letters to someone who has upset me very comforting.
I wish you all the best. I’m sorry you had to deal with such horrible events in your life. I’ve done many reports on Child abuse for my schooling, and the statistics are outrageous. Abuse of any kind is not tolerated in any part of the world, yet it still happens. Abuse in any of the five forms is saddening and it must stop by taking a stand. Educating future generations, being open in communication, trusting when someone opens up to you about witnessing or experiencing abuse firsthand.
I’m sitting here crying now. I was molested for years by a family member. I stopped it by him that I would tell, after finally getting the courage to do so. I try to push it back and out of my mind, sometimes I completely forget about it. I prayed and prayed that I would forget. And I would, for a day or weeks or months, but it will still come up. I don’t feel comfortable with any type of sexual touch(unless it’s from me LOL) I’m definitely detached, a little too detached at times.
I can remember stopping him one time and just going to the bathroom and taking a shower, then a bath to rid myself the dirtiness I felt. I think I must have stayed in that bathroom for 3 hours, I didn’t want to come out until he left anyways. I wish I would have told, then I could have maybe saved someone else that he did this to. I’m sorry you had to be a victim.