Alma DyeI had a distorted perspective of him. As I grew older I was able to label those who sexually abuse children; sexual predators and molesters.
Sexually Abused
It was the Summer of 1985. I was just a four year old little girl watching TV when I felt the living room fill with darkness. A kind of darkness I had never felt until that day. I could feel the room begin to fill with anxiety too. I was a child so I didn’t know what would happen next.
My mother was preparing to leave to the grocery store with my siblings but my oldest brother and I stayed behind. I thought it was unusual that he paced back and forth waiting for them to leave. As soon as they leave he locks the door. This was unusual too because our door remained unlocked during the day. You see, we lived in an apartment building of several family members and many would just let themselves in for a chat with my parents.
The next thing I remember was laying down on the couch and my pants were coming off. He began to sexually abuse me. I laid there scared, shocked, and confused. My own brother was molesting me!
Saved By Pounding
I can hear my family coming back from the grocery store then I hear my mom reaching for the door knob. She realizes it’s locked. I hear pounding and then she yells out to unlock the door. He picks me up and rushes me into the bathroom and in a mean tone tells me “NEVER TELL ANYONE!”
While I’m in the middle of the bathroom I hear my mother scolding him for having locked the door and some other things but it all faded out and became background noise as I stood there in shame because I knew deep within my soul something precious was robbed from me.
Instantly I felt dirty, used, and ugly. I looked at my body with hate because I felt that it betrayed me since I enjoyed the arousal. My body experienced sexual feelings no child should ever experience.
In retrospect, I know the pounding at the door saved my life. God only knows what else could have happened to me. I strongly believe he could have done me more harm, had it not been for my mom getting back when she did.
If you endured similar pain or greater, I’m truly sorry for your trauma. My heart aches for your pain. Sexual abuse robs us all.
Distorted Perspective
Up to that point I had not seen my brother as someone repulsive to look at, a pervert… evil… but he was. I had (and always will have) a distorted perspective of him. As I grew older I was able to label those who sexually abuse children; sexual predators and molesters. “My brother is a sexual predator and a child molester.”
When you’re a child, your vulnerability, innocence, and the love you have towards your family opens you up to trust them. I trusted my brother and he broke my trust into a trillion pieces.
Living In Silence
That Winter we moved directly across the street from where my abuse happened and I’m glad we did. I have read stories of people who have lived in their homes where their abuse happened and cannot revisit the bedroom they once peacefully slept in. I believe moving was God’s grace because I could have experienced more mental trauma if we continued to live there.
My brother moved out the house when I was twelve but for eight years he used every opportunity to taunt me. Avoiding him was not optional. I was too young to experience depression but it had sunk deep into my bones. Daily, he made me out to be the center of mean jokes, called me names, and even had other kids and cousins join him at poking fun at me. I was awkward, overweight, and with low self-esteem – hating myself more each day.
I tried so hard to fit in with any group that accepted me; there were few. Yet, cultivating true long-lasting friendships didn’t easily happen for me simply because my heart couldn’t fully trust anyone. My classmates didn’t know the true me and they didn’t know the baggage I was lugging around in my heart.
When I was eight my dad officially moved to Texas and we remained in Chicago. I always saw my parents marriage as unhealthy and chaotic. Though my mom struggled to provided for all six of us financially, she was not motherly. In fact, she grew colder. My dad would “visit” when he felt like it and would leave the same way. I’d go to school and when I’d return he’d be gone without a proper “goodbye.” As a result of this instability I didn’t trust neither of my parents so I isolated myself and continued to live in silence.
The Effects of Abuse
While getting ready for school I would avoid mirrors and it showed on my appearance because I didn’t care what I looked like. This behavior followed me well into adulthood. I would cringe at mirrors because I hated what I saw. Mirrors gave me anxiety because I could not face my shame. Any store with mirrors gave me a panic attack. Attacks I hid well from anyone that knew me. I was a pro at hiding my shame but that shame made me a cold and overly sensitive child too and I had constant thoughts of suicide.
After many years of living this way I have learned how to stop shaming myself.
Ritually, on many nights I cried myself to sleep because of my sexual abuse, the taunting, being angry, hating mirrors, my appearance, not enjoying life, and hating that I cried so much. I’ve cried so hard that I’ve woken up with broken blood vessels on my eyes and face that resembled red freckles.
The Silence Is Barely Broken
I was twelve years old in the Summer of 1993. My summer program educated us by showing a clip on preventing sexual abuse and to tell someone you trust if it happened. My mom was not an affectionate woman and unapproachable but I was growing weary by keeping this secret. For years I had been resentful towards her for leaving me alone with him. However, he had already moved out so I found the courage to tell that same day. My mom cried and then apologized because she felt something “was off” that day but couldn’t make sense of what it could have been. I expected her to instantly call the police to protect me and get me justice.
Up to three years she swept my pain under the rug. The spark of hope I had in my heart dwindled away by her silence. She kept me a secret too. Another family member betrayed me. More anger, more depression, more walls.
My Little Runaway
Somewhere within, my mom felt guilty for what happened to me. Overnight, she stopped being so strict. She let go of the reins, and I ran loose! Sure, she would get on my case and an occasional whooping (of which I was high so I didn’t feel it) but I never, ever received harsh punishments for my actions. I had lots of freedom and I took advantage of that freedom one too many times. No curfew, living a promiscuous life, and depended on marijuana. I hung out with gangs, wrong crowds, went clubbing, and anywhere that kept me away from home and my mom; I was angry at her. From ages twelve to fifteen I had run away several times. Eventually, my cousins and siblings gave me the nickname “Runaway” after the song written by Del Shannon.
Bamboozled
We were living in our third apartment at this time and I walked into the living room and my mom bamboozled me at the doorway. “Walk towards the kitchen and sit down at the table. Your brother is here to “apologize” to you.” At the table my mom says to him “go ahead, ask her to forgive you…” My head and countenance dropped. I had to relive “that day” all over again. I felt humiliated. Why!? His words had no meaning, it didn’t genuinely come from a broken, remorseful place but it was my mother who brought an apology out of him. My mind could not accept that apology. I became furious so I did what I was good at… I ran away again.
Eventually, I moved in with my then boyfriend and after a few months I became pregnant. By seventeen I was a mom to a beautiful baby girl.
Hope In Jesus After Sexual Abuse
Sexual abuse clouded my view of God. As a little girl and then a pregnant teen I was always curious of God. However, a desire to know God grew the moment I had my daughter but I felt like I made too many mistakes and that He didn’t want anything to do with my used and battered soul.
At twenty-five years old I was already a divorcee. I was a single mom again and my life was a hot mess! I sensed God so intensely in my life that I had to take a moment to listen.
Soon I began to imperfectly attend a church, living in sin, hoping no one would read into me. Though I was going to church something inside of me knew I didn’t have to be perfect to continue going. Moreover, I was ashamed that I came into church with baggage and even more ashamed because I would not surrendered to my very own sins to Jesus.
I was in bondage to promiscuity and had a hateful heart towards my abuser. The more I read the bible, God would silently speak to my heart. It’s definitely true that God’s word is alive! Hebrews 4:12. When I read Romans 8:5-7 a lightbulb went off. “I can’t continue living in my sins and continue hating my abuser! I want to please the Lord, Holy Spirit I need Your peace!” God dealt with my heart and I surrender to Jesus. I placed my hope in Jesus because I knew He could heal my heart from the shame I carried and hate I felt on a daily basis. God showed me how to release hate and bitterness towards my abuser. Releasing and forgiving are two different things.
My healing began fifteen years ago, so there is hope in Jesus!
Healing from Sexual Abuse
Throughout my healing journey I find myself more than ever uprooting lies Satan had me believe were true. Satan whispers lies to me that my sexual abuse “was not as worse at others” and that my pain “isn’t as bad.” That I shouldn’t “get bent out of shape” over what happened “one time.” Satan enjoys accusing us. He is a liar and the father of lies John 8:44. I can easily dwell on those lies if I don’t quickly hold every thought captive to the obedience of Christ 2 Corinthians 10:5.
- Yes, it happened one time and it broke me, but God can heal my heart.
- Others have suffered more yet I suffered too, but God can heal my heart.
- My innocence was robbed from me, but God can heal my heart.
Satan still tries to shame me (even now writing this to you) but my hope is in Christ! I’m a testimony that there is hope in Jesus after sexual abuse! God can heal you because He is Jehovah Rapha Psalms 6:2 (NLT). If He is healing me, He can do the same for you!
For many years, I struggled to believe I was important enough to protect. Today, I take a stand to protect my inner-little-girl that was let down and not protected. I’m speaking out for her and telling her story.
PRAYER: Jehovah Rapha, I ask that you help heal and continue healing the hearts of us who have been wounded by sexual abuse. Let us know how to lean on You in our own personal healing journey. Help us to find comfort in Your Scriptures. Let us find hope in You. Help us to pray tall on our knees knowing You are the Father who heals. Amen.
Until He makes all things new Revelation 21:4-5.