You're Only As Sick As Your Secrets
Sexual Abuse Awareness, Prevention and InterventionBy Donna Jacques TemmBALBOA PRESS
Copyright © 2010 Donna J. Temm
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4525-0027-0Contents
Chapter 1 Illusions ~ The Ultimate Denial..................................................1Chapter 2 Reflections In Little Mirrors....................................................5Chapter 3 The Journey Begins ..............................................................9Chapter 4 A Different Perspective..........................................................11Chapter 5 The Realization..................................................................15Chapter 6 Support ... Finding, Then Allowing...............................................19Chapter 7 The Self-Chastising ~ "Get over it!".............................................23Chapter 8 A Memory Unfolds.................................................................27Chapter 9 The Harsh Reality................................................................29Chapter 10 Food For Thought On Awareness, Prevention, and Intervention.....................35Chapter 11 Unacted Upon Chances for Change.................................................41Chapter 12 Why Hadn't I Disclosed?.........................................................45Chapter 13 Avenues To Healing..............................................................49Chapter 14 A Support System................................................................53Chapter 15 After Three Decades ... Allowance...............................................55Chapter 16 Repercussions of Abuse on Spirituality and Sense of Self........................65Afterword..................................................................................71
Chapter One
Illusions ~ The Ultimate Denial
"Oh my God! I'm so lucky! I can't even imagine!" This was the chatter running through my mind as I sat at the grouping of uneven desks. I looked at my colleagues dispersed around this same set of desks each sitting somewhat uncomfortably. I tried to decipher if the discomfort arose from the small chairs made to perfectly fit lower elementary students or if it was from the agenda of that morning's meeting.
In a week or so, our 1st through 3rd grade elementary school would be hosting a play about sexual abuse. The woman sitting with us was explaining this play's powerful message and informing us of the correct procedure should any of our students disclose information about such a situation. The school district had even gone as far as to provide an additional guidance counselor at the school that morning to ensure each child in crisis would receive immediate support.
Before ending the meeting, this same woman directed her attention to each and every one of the eight teachers in attendance. She went on to tell us the high percentage of adults who had been sexually abused as a child. She encouraged us to seek professional help if any memories were to surface for any one of us.
My mind immediately shot back to my carefree childhood days; a mom and dad not separated by divorce; family vacations with relatives (not really related but close enough to call "aunt" and "uncle"); summers spent at our beach house swimming by day and playing kick the can with siblings and neighborhood children by night; happy holidays with my two aunts playing Hawaiian guitars and the rest of us joining in the singing of French songs. Boy, those were the days! Yes, I had my fears and fair share of "down times", but dealing with students in crisis put my own childhood woes into perspective.
The meeting ended with the ringing of the bell and as was the norm, this day began with those energetic little ones filling the halls. Most were bundled with their winter gear; boots, hats, mittens, snow pants and scarves, not to mention backpacks and lunch boxes. But as could be predicted, not all our little ones would be so bundled. (Some were intentional episodes of leaving behind the winter layers and others were just signs of their harsh realities.)
As I made my way down the hall, the guidance counselor informed me we would need to "chat" before the play took place. I nodded in acceptance and without another moment's hesitation, began yet another day of what I'd been doing for nearly 11 years; pouring my heart and soul, intellect and emotion, into my work to provide nothing but my best for my students.
The day of our little "chat" arrived and the only item on the agenda was a student in my class. She was a second grader, just seven years old. We were all concerned about her welfare and had suspicions about sexual abuse. She was self-mutilating on a daily basis, and her mom (and therefore, she and her siblings) was living with a known sex offender. Nothing could be done. All hands were tied UNLESS this hurting child would disclose to us. This would provide a basis for investigation. Hence, the reason for this meeting. I was encouraged to be open and aware of any opportunities that may arise when she would feel comfortable enough to reach out and trust that she'd be supported. Although a huge responsibility initially, her case would then be handled by authorities and professionals trained in this line of intervention work. I took this task very seriously since I believed that for 181 days these students were mine. I felt the need to care for them on all levels; their education and emotional well-being as well as their physical well-being.
On the day of the play, the whole school arrived downstairs in our basement/cafeteria/gymnasium/auditorium; in other words, our multi-purpose room. The stage was set and the play began. Throughout the presentation, I found myself on edge. Periodically, I needed to remind myself to breathe, release my fisted hands, and drop my shoulders. I attributed it to the fact that my eyes were watching not only my little one in crisis, but also the reactions of all those around her. I wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to help a child, especially one in crisis.
Once the play was finished, I ushered my students back to the classroom and had them all sit on the rug so we could talk about what we'd just witnessed. After one student related his feelings and a personal experience similar to the one in the play, several others began to feel more comfortable and tell of their own experiences. I was appalled at just which children were disclosing. These were children who appeared to have families that didn't "fit" the category of exposing themselves to situations that would allow such instances to occur. At the same time, I was relieved that they had disclosed to their parents and the end results were positive.
It was not until we ended our discussion and headed back to our desks that my little one in crisis oh-so-quietly approached me asking to see the guidance counselor. I immediately got coverage for my class and brought her myself.
Later in the day, I was informed that we had, in fact, received a disclosure and the appropriate phone calls and notifications had been made. The process had begun and I was reassured my little one would be in good hands.
The day ended. Though I was emotionally and physically exhausted, I had a sense of satisfaction. I had hope that the sun would rise just a little brighter tomorrow for one seven-year-old little girl.
Chapter Two
Reflections In Little Mirrors
As I reflect on my first few years of teaching, I realize I was drawn to two students in particular. Each had separate issues. The fact that these issues stemmed from their home situations was their only common thread. I felt their pain as though it was my own and went above and beyond to "fix" or provide whatever they were lacking. It wasn't until years later that I realized these children were mirroring to me and outwardly expressing through their words and actions my own inner repressed painful experiences. Though I was not consciously aware of it, my subconscious mind as well as the memories stored there and throughout my body were being triggered. I was reliving my own past through their ever-present circumstances. I was trying to provide for them what I knew from experience they needed on a core level; a goal I could never accomplish. What they needed did not lie within me, but from somewhere I had no control over.
People who understood this more than I did (counselors and other veteran teachers) had told me that it was in my best interest to emotionally detach from these students. In other words, I was to remember that it was my job to provide each with the best educational experience as well as a safe environment where they could feel confident enough to take educational risks. Beyond that, I could not "fix" their home lives nor could I "fix" their emotional and physical pain whose root causes were beyond my ability to access. The most I could do was to be aware of and recognize any signs of abuse and/or neglect and report it to those professionally trained in such areas of intervention.
I finally came to the realization that I was limited in my options and that detaching from them emotionally was something I could not do. Therefore, I needed to physically detach from them. So when I began to become dissatisfied with other areas of the teaching profession, I finally made the break. Though physically detaching did not erase from my mind what I knew all too well about the circumstances of many children in society, not being subjected to it on a daily basis provided me with a temporary bandage; a bandage that would allow me to look deeper into my own inner turmoil and do the necessary healing.
As I continue on my journey (and it is a continuous journey), I often reflect on my own growth and the opportunities that have presented themselves in my life now. I realize that it has come full circle. My personal experiences with abuse and neglect as well as the healing experiences that stemmed from them are now being shared with so many others in a variety of ways; be it volunteering to work with battered and abused women or welcoming more children in similar circumstances into my current profession. Here I have an opportunity to share my story as well as my own triumphs. I can attempt to provide them with some sense of hope through suggestions about approaches and alternatives that allowed me to heal.
I would encourage anyone experiencing great difficulty with the behaviors or life patterns of those around them to look more deeply into their own lives. There is a set of Universal Laws that includes the Law of Reflection (in metaphysical, not scientific terms). Though I won't go into great detail about it, I believe it to be worthy of mention. It states that when there is judgment about something, it can lead to understanding about who we are as well as what we have had as a part of our life experiences. This was evident in the strength with which I felt my students' pain around the area of abuse. Though still on a subconscious level, I was looking into their little faces and they were mirroring my own similar experiences.
Through this book, it is my hope to reach beyond the physical and/or educational training borders within which I've been restricted thus far. It is my intention to bring awareness to a whole different sector of people with direct access to both children of abuse and neglect as well as adult survivors who may still be unaware of their repressed memories but are suffering from dis-ease with inexplicable causes. My hope is to reach those just coming to consciousness who may not be trusting the information they are feeling, those who may be questioning if such thoughts and feelings are fabrications of their own minds, and those who are beginning to believe that they are "going crazy" or suffering from some mental disorder. Within my words, I hope to bring healing.
Chapter Three
The Journey Begins ...
My son was in bed and my husband was sitting in his chair. The TV was on, but I can't tell you what we were watching. I was laying alone on the loveseat in my living room. Though my legs were uncomfortable from hanging over the edge, I didn't have it in me to move. I was exhausted on all levels. Though I looked like the most "together" person to the outside world, my inside world was crumbling. By day, I sported a smile and tried to accomplish everything I did to perfection. In the evening, my family got every last bit of my energy. But lately, my "tank" was running low. A good night's sleep no longer refilled it and I was sure I was running on reserves. My logical mind tried to put it all together, but it just couldn't provide me with any insight.
I tried to reason with myself. I'd been through a lot. My health hadn't been the best for quite some time. My marriage was rocky; though I knew of much worse situations. My son had been very ill for several years and doctors couldn't pinpoint the cause, but somehow, his health was recently improving. It had already been nearly six years since my brother had passed away at age 35. I repeatedly told myself I had a good life and I should be thankful for what I had. This was just the type of self-chastising I always did.
That's when I received a phone call that would alter the path of my future. My sister had called at that crucial moment when despair from the depths of my being was so close to the surface that even a positive inflection of my voice was difficult to muster. Just from the tone of my "hello", she knew that something wasn't right.
My sister knew the pattern I'd struggled with for years. I'd dip into periods of undiagnosed depressive states that would continue until my lack of self-compassion kicked in. Then, the next step of the repetitive cycle brought the harsh self-talk as well as the self-chastising. Shame caused me to swallow these feelings, completely disregard my emotions, and resume my unconscious state of being.
Though unaware of the complete details of the conversation that ensued with my sister, I do remember it ending with a very strong, yet supportive, push to seek some professional help. Promising to get some names of well-respected professionals, she ended the conversation with "I love you". Though emotionally and physically exhausted once again, I now had hope that the sun would rise just a little brighter tomorrow for me.
Chapter Four
A Different Perspective
It was several weeks later before I found myself sitting in the office of a counselor who had come highly recommended. Although I could see no legitimate reason for doing so, she made an outline of my family tree, spending time on correctly placing relatives on the appropriate branches.
Next, she asked me to tell her about my past relationships with members of the opposite sex. Because of long courtships, there were very few, yet she wanted to know about each one in great detail. I obliged, though once again unable to understand where she was going with it. After ending with my current relationship, my marriage, I waited in anticipation of what she'd want to hear about next. Much to my surprise, instead of questioning me further, she now had something to add to this one-sided conversation. I was shocked and taken aback when in a very matter-of-fact tone she said, "So you're telling me you've never had a functional intimate relationship with a member of the opposite sex. They've all been dysfunctional." What further shocked me was that there was no tone in her voice conveying a question. She had stated what she believed to be fact.
Confusion quickly turned to disgust. I thought, "Where the hell did she come up with that? That's not at all what I just described!" But the peacemaker in me chose not to respond in disagreement. The session ended with the scheduling of another appointment for the following week. She handed me a brochure on a process called EMDR. This brochure would provide preliminary information outlining the technique to be used in our next session. Little did I know at that time just how integral it would be in setting the stage not only for a replay of the past but also as an alteration of my future.
The following week's therapy session proved to be extremely different from that of the previous week. I knew from the literature that the EMDR process would focus on unexpressed trauma being stored in the body. I was aware that often such experiences were processed in the emotional brain but never logically reasoned through by the intellectual brain. This is especially common in children. Events perceived as traumatic are stored in a child's body if the brain has not yet formed the synapses that allow communication between the left and right hemispheres. Eventually, unremediated trauma will manifest itself in a variety of ways; often as an emotional imbalance or physical dis-ease.
That day's session entailed focusing on a recalled memory and experiencing it as scenery being viewed from a train's window or from the perspective of watching it on a movie screen. One of two small paddles was placed in each of my hands and alternating vibrations were emanating from each one. A headset displaying alternating beeping tones was also placed on my ears. Though I don't recall the specific memory we were focused on that session, I can say in retrospect that it was nothing that I would have ever imagined would have led to the recovery of a sexual abuse incident.
As my counselor guided me through the process, I was barely aware of the intermittent changes in the speed of alternating beeps and vibrations that were encouraging the transference of information from one brain hemisphere to the other. Though we had a sort of dialogue about the details of what I was recalling, nothing really seemed to be piecing together. The session ended and I was disappointed that no groundbreaking discoveries had been made. However, off I went with another appointment for the following week to do more of the same work.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from You're Only As Sick As Your Secretsby Donna Jacques Temm Copyright © 2010 by Donna J. Temm. Excerpted by permission of BALBOA PRESS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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