About Sharing: A Personal Perspective

  I have started to write "How to Communicate: Sharing" about six times now. I always falter about two paragraphs in.  I wanted the readers here to know that I am putting a lot of thought into this next post. August is just not my month and some family issues have made writing a back burner activity for a bit.

  Here are some of my rambling thoughts on sharing and my personal experiences in the matter. The next post should be an actual how to.

  "  Sharing is such a personal experience and its incredibly unique to everyone. There are basics that I can provide as a template but that is about all. Those basics will help as much as anyone can help to do what seems like an impossible task.

   I can not tell you how many times I started to say something and couldn't. I never wanted to hurt those I loved and I still avoid mentioning my past when I am with some of my family. These people love me unconditionally. They are part of my past, and there are cycles of dysfunction that facilitated some of the places I have ended up. I do not blame them in any way. I have spent a long time thinking things over and trying to empathize with their situations. I wont say that I haven't been bitter or angry, because I have. It was just beyond me to want to hurt another person if I could avoid it.

  That being said, I have always been a writer. I have a number of poems that allude to the truth. I have blogs, journal entries, and songs. They were always out for others to see, and I always wanted someone to ask me what those things were about. I thought that maybe it would easier if I didn't actually start the conversation. Many times I was asked if I had a problem (like drinking) or if I was okay. I never could answer those questions with more than a yes or no.  I have had my parents miss huge red flags. And I have even outright lied about things before.

  I spent some time attending church. I loved sunday school and I really wanted to find that salvation that is often preached about. I really wanted that solace and close bond with a higher being. I read all of my childrens bible and much of an adult one. Ultimately it was a bible verse that ended my faith. I found a verse about how rape victims were to be treated. It destroyed me for a bit. I felt like if the church and god couldnt forgive me for this secret I felt that I had to keep, then maybe no one would. 

    I never did find solace in the church and drifted into a very dark place for a while. It was at one of the lowest points of agony in this darkness, that the sunshine took away my misery. I can't say how or why but it was as if the light in the leaves just lifted a huge burden from me. I did not feel whole, nor did I feel healed. Only that the lion's share of pain was gone. It was soon after that moment that I found the trinkling, tiny amount of strength in me to say something for real and outloud to another person.

  I can't remember now how I came to it. I was sitting outside the local library, on the ground, between my two best friends. I took a deep breath and then another before I could even spit out the simple sentence that I had been abused. It felt like time stopped. It was real now. One of my friends, my best friend to this day, had to leave at some point. The other friend ( who would become my second abuser when we dated) asked if I wanted to talk about it. I tried to tell my whole story. The words seemed to flow out of me in this halting horrible way. It came to a point where he just begged me to stop. He said he couldn't bear to hear more of it. Thinking back, well that was the worst part. The part where he asked me to stop talking was the worst part of everything. 

  I didn't feel relieved at the time. I felt scared, terrified really. It took time before I felt okay again. I realize that the more I admitted to that part of my past, the easier it was to bear. I reached out to girl in one of my classes who seemed like she needed a friend and I told another friend about it. I never went into detail again. I still remember the abuse in detail, but the telling of it is fading. 

   I won't promise that telling your story is painless or a relief. Its terrifying and it hurts. It rips your heart out a little and yet somehow manages to stitch together a bit of your soul. It makes a nightmare into a reality, but also allows you to move past it in some ways. 

  Today, I have a more colorful past and I have survived more abuse. I am also a million times more willing to tell my story. I am better for it. I have met a number of other amazing people who have stories similar to my own. The telling of this silent truth I had kept for so long, it freed a portion of me that hated the lying and has allowed me to grow as a person. It has given me a unique and wonderful support system. 

  Sharing my story took more strength than I ever imagined having, but not once have I regretted it. I have been required to speak to police officers and talk to attorneys. I have been called a liar, even. I am scared to visit my home town sometimes but its been worth it all. I have saved lives, helped other people,and made the world a better place. 

   So today, as a survivor, I am proud to say that I routinely cause open debates about abuse in my workplace. I have memorized help resources and given out that information to those who have needed it. I have sat and talked to friends who had no one else. And I write this blog. I am so incredibly proud to be here in this way, telling my story, that even my family knows it is here. "

                                                                                              -D.M.

"     I’ve never shared my whole story.  I’ve doled it out in chunks to different people — some have gotten most of it, but I don’t think there’s anyone who’s heard it all.  It’s been painful, sometimes.  It’s been hard to ask people to listen, and sometimes telling it has been painful, leaving gouges that last for days.

     I’ve lost a friend, trying to share with her — but I’ve made others, and discovered new depths of friendship with other friends I’ve had.

    Overall, it has helped.  I’m getting better, and opening up has been a part of that process.
But I still lie to people.  My family doesn’t know, and probably never will.  It’s habit to tell people that I feel okay, even when I don’t.  It’s habit to deflect and talk about other things.

     I’m not ready to share my story openly with everyone — but I want to share more with the people I have shared with.

                   That’s about all I can say right now."

                                                                                                            - T.