Why I Talk About My Childhood Abuse Over and Over
by Christina Enevoldsen
When I used to talk about my childhood sexual
abuse, I heard familiar accusations: “You just want attention” or “Nobody likes
a crybaby.” As I poured out the same story again and again to my friends, I
felt guilty for wasting their time.
I believed that there was a rule that I was
allowed to share a bad experience with one or two people at the most and then I
had to stop talking about it or I was “just being a victim”. Yet I was
compelled to keep talking about it even with the internal accusations and the
guilt that it caused.
I was warned that “dwelling” on things doesn’t
serve any purpose—that it would just make me feel worse. But I was already
depressed and it wasn’t from talking about my abuse. I was depressed because my
trauma and the feelings that went with it were locked up inside of me. As I
started to see some benefit from talking about my abuse, I started to question
the limited talking “rule”.
Where did I get the idea that attention is bad
or selfish? When I wanted someone to hear me, why did the voice in my head say,
“You think you’re so important, but you’re not”.
One of my earliest memories is of myself as a
two year old. I don’t remember what I needed or if it was a physical or
emotional need, but when I found my parents, they were with my baby brother.
They acted annoyed that I had needs too. Their reaction communicated that I was
expecting too much, that I was selfish, that having needs was something to be
ashamed of.
Throughout my childhood, that message was
reinforced in so many ways. I was emotionally abandoned if I cried or expressed
“negative” feelings. My parents ignored my crying, so I coughed instead. My dad
would come to my crib and mock my fake cough, but he wouldn’t acknowledge my
needs or tend to them. His mocking told me that my needs weren’t important and
added the additional message that I was a liar who exaggerated my needs.
I learned that I wasn’t tolerable unless I was
happy so I learned to shut up about my needs and my pain. Acting like
everything was okay was the only way to avoid more pain from rejection.
As an adult, whenever I talked about the past,
I hated myself for exposing my “badness” and “making” people walk away from me.
I expected to be abandoned the same way my parents had abandoned me and I
abandoned myself during the times that I needed the most comfort.
Seeing where those beliefs and behaviors came
from allowed me to see that I’m a worthy of love even when I express my pain or
talk about the awful things that happened to me.
In my healing from abuse, I’ve found that
there are two parts to recovery: Dealing with the damage and providing the
things for myself that are lacking. Talking about my abuse is the means to both
of those things.
1. As I’ve talked about my past, I’ve come to accept that it
really happened. After repressing the memories of my traumatic childhood, it
was unbelievable that the images in my head really happened—and they didn’t
just happen to someone, they happened to ME. I went over it again and again—in
my mind and with others. Sometimes, when I shared my story, I felt like a liar
even though I knew I wasn’t making it up. I’d go in and out of denial and then
at some point, I really got it. Talking about my abuse helped me accept the
truth. This wasn’t a TV show or news story—this was my story.
Talking to understanding and compassionate
people was the gateway to feeling compassion and pain for myself and
acknowledging the depth of my loss. When I finally sat still with my experience
and listened to my heart, I finally FELT heard.
2. I talked about my abuse because I needed to
know what happened to me really mattered. The way I was treated as a child told
me that my feelings didn’t matter—that I didn’t matter. I was wasting someone’s
time since I was a waste of time. The horror and tears on a friend’s face told
me that what happened to me really was bad and that I wasn’t making a big deal
out of nothing. What happened to me was wrong. I deserved to be treated better.
3. Telling my story has been a way to reach out for the
validation I never got. Since I dissociated during my abuse and for so much of
my life, I wasn’t connected to myself, especially to my emotional self. Talking
to understanding and compassionate people was the gateway to feeling compassion
and pain for myself and to acknowledging the depth of my loss. When I finally
sat still with my experience and listened to my heart, I finally felt heard.
4. Talking about my abuse allows me to hear
myself. As I listen, I hear myself emphasize details that I’d thought were
insignificant. It’s given me greater understanding of my feelings and behaviors
today. I’ve make connections between past events and current feelings and
behaviors. I’ve solved today’s problems by looking back at how I got here.
For the most part, when I talk about my abuse
now, it’s for someone elses benefit. However, when a new memory surfaces or I
delve into a deeper layer, I share it with my friends and I give myself all the
time I need to process it.
I used to feel the pressure to get it all out
quickly since I wanted to stop before I was abandoned, but now I’m patient
with myself and no matter how long I talk or grieve, I don’t abandon myself in
the process. I know I’m worth all the time it takes to heal.
Christina Enevoldsen is cofounder of Overcoming Sexual Abuse, an
online resource for male and female abuse survivors looking for practical
answers and tools for healing. Christina’s passions are writing and speaking
about her own journey of healing from abuse and inspiring people toward
wholeness. She and her husband live in Los Angeles and share three children and
four grandchildren.
