0006-The Stepbastard - My childhood sexual abuse experience

Let me go ahead and warn you that if you're sensitive to the topic of sexual abuse, you may want to skip this episode, or at the very least, let someone you know and trust know that you're going to have a listen and that you may need them to be there for you. I was not raped, but I'm very frank about what happened to me, and it could be startling to some.  

This episode is for any family and friends who've been curious about what happened and have been too "afraid" to ask. This is also for any other survivor out there to see so that they know that they aren't alone, and that they too, can share their story when they're damn good and ready to. I support you. I believe you.  

Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network - https://www.rainn.org/ 

Darkness to Light - https://www.d2l.org/ 

Transcript from the show:

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Today's episode is going to be a bit of a tough one. Please allow this to be your trigger warning. I don't really intend to hold back here because it'd be unfair to myself if I did. As much as I love to make others happy, this particular episode isn't about that. 

It's about one of the biggest wounds in my life. My wound isn't as large as others', but it's a wound no less. It sets the stage for what my childhood was like, and probably gives hints as to why I am the way I am today.

Why am I sharing this? Because it's a massive part of who I am and ALSO because I want others to find the strength to come out on top of their stories.

Also, please don't listen with the intent of comparing your choices to mine and how you might have "done better" or "could have done something differently." I need you to stop shaming yourself (and me, if you take it that way)! Sexual abuse/assault is NOT our fault. We didn't make the choice for the other person to infringe on our personal space and take from us. It all boils down to the fact that the other person used whatever means available to them to take from us. They TOOK. For good measure – THEY. TOOK. 

Anywho.

Ready?

Let's go.

So yeah, I refer to him as "the stepbastard." I have trouble referring to him as my "stepdad" or "stepfather" to others because he's never been that, for me. At least not until my quirky little brain was able to come up with the more fitting nickname.

My mom divorced my bio father when I was really young. Then, somewhere around the age of three, the stepbastard came into the picture. My first real memories of him were after I stayed with my grandmother for the weekend and when I returned, we were living in a new house, and I had a new "dad."

He was just another human in the house; an adult who had rules for me as well.

Sometime around the age of 7, the abuse started. I wonder if I've blocked out a lot of it because I don't remember being groomed. I don't even remember every time or how frequent it was. What I do remember though, is being called out into the living room and being made to sit in only my underwear, to watch some kind of porn on the TV. I'm unsure if it was the same instance, but I do remember also being made to "go down on him" in lieu of a spanking. And when he finished in my mouth and I gagged, he laughed and said, "one day you'll enjoy that." Actually, now that I think about it, the spanking scenario came up later. After the first blowjob experience, I'd gotten in trouble for something and my choices were to either get spanked with the belt, or give another blowjob.

I chose the belt.

But wait. There's nefariousness still! It wasn't until several years later that I learned spanking was also sexually viable for him. For whatever reason, I would wake up around 5 o'clock in the morning on Tuesdays to he and my mom having sex, where he was audibly spanking her. I would wrap my head in my pillow and stuff my fingers in my ears while "lalalaing" or humming just loud enough to drown out the noise.

The porn and blow jobs weren't the only thing. I would regularly get "caught" in the kitchen by him and he'd start tickling me. Only, the tickling was a ruse to grab at my pre-teen chest.

I was in a constant state of alert and helplessness.

Of all the things in the world to give weight and meaning to what was happening to me, it was Unsolved Mysteries. I had a TV in my room and would watch whatever was on. This particular episode, the host was talking about the disappearance of a girl. The details of that are also fuzzy, but this girl had been molested by her father. I remember the host recounting some of the details of her abuse and recognized what was happening to me. It helped to validate the feelings I was having that something was wrong. It gave me the courage to try alerting someone else that something was wrong.

For this next bit, you have to realize that I'm a quiet and shy little 9 year old girl now. Mousy brown hair and picked on a lot for wearing glasses and having crooked teeth. There's not a lot of room for any confidence in there.

It was Valentine's Day and I had leftover 101 Dalmatians cards, like those that you get in a multi-pack for giving out to classmates in school. I picked one and wrote on the back of it, "Daddy is sexually abusing me." I sat in my room for a couple of hours, trying to get up the guts to go give the card to my mom. I had a short window of opportunity left before the stepbastard came home from grocery shopping and my time was running out.

Realizing that, I opened the door to my room, walked the card out to my mom, handed it to her, and walked straight back to my room. After that, the details go dark.

I don't remember her coming to get me out of the room or talking to me. The next thing I do remember is sitting our black pleather swivel chair. I think I was sitting on my mom's lap, but I'm not certain.

I remember him asking us both if we wanted him to leave. I'm nine years old, remember? What a great tool to leverage against me. Make it *my* decision that he's allowed to stay when I have no business being a decision maker against someone who's abused me for the last two years. Oh. Wait. Excuse me. Who has been "teaching me about sex" for the last two years. Sure, stay old man. Who am I to be the one to ultimately disrupt our lives as we know them?

A few days later, he cornered me again in the kitchen and got very angry with me, chastising me for making the claim that I was being sexually abused. He scolded, "you're too young to know what sexual abuse is!"

Fuck you, motherfucker. Fuck you.

Anyway.

I didn't have to watch porn anymore, or sit in only my underwear anymore. And thank fuck - no more fucking blowjobs. 

But yeah. We're not finished here.

If you recall, I wore glasses. Well, I was "supposed" to wear them. When the abuse resumed, it showed up in the form of flashing. He would conveniently "forget his belt" and his pants would fall. I guess he didn't wear underwear, so that meant he would expose himself to me when his pants fell down. I used to "get a quarter" every time it happened, to keep me from telling my mom. By the time I was 11, I was regularly not wearing my glasses and making excuses for not having them on.

The bribery shifted to, "okay, you don't have to wear your glasses, but no more quarters." I think my mom questioned it once on why I wasn't wearing my glasses anymore and he made some comment to her like he was on my side of wanting to reduce my odds of being picked on in school.

I never knew when his pants were going to fall. Things are going okay and then one day, boom! There's a dick. Thanks fuckface.

The other kicker to the glasses thing - Just this past year, I went back to the eye doctor to get checked out. My eyesight hasn't changed a whole lot and AND! My doc only gave me glasses because I requested them for night driving. My eyesight did not warrant NEEDING glasses. Ever since, I've wondered if they were just a ruse for control. There's more to the glasses story but I need to save that for another episode.

Anyway.

The tickling in the kitchen still happened regularly. I made conscious efforts to avoid going in there if he was heading that way. He still managed to make excuses on needing something if I were in there so I couldn't really avoid it. I still have a scar from his watchband, from one occasion.

Around the age of 14. I had to get new bras. My mom took me out for that and all was well. Well, up until the point that I wanted to go stay the night at a friend's house. Oh, I could go, but I had to model the new bras first.

The frustration of wanting to get out of the house but only being able to if I subjected myself to scrutiny and gawking from the man I hated most was terrible. But...I already felt unsafe after that request. The only way I was going to change that feeling was to get out of the house. The only way I was going to get out of the house was to concede.

So I did.

I think I'd gotten like 3 bras that day. And the last one...it was a shiny blue one, with only underwire, no real padding. It was on that last bra, that shiny pretty blue one, that "caused" him to reach out and start trying to grope me and take control of me. I started fighting back and resisting his attempts and thankfully he stopped and then apologized for "losing his mind."

I went back to my room, dressed, packed my shit, and left to stay with my friend.

I'd talked with my friends about what was happening and they finally talked me into telling my mom – AGAIN. This time, my boyfriend at the time and best friend tagged along with me to a 4H meeting that my mom took us to. In the car, after the meeting, and with my friends flanking me, I told my mom what had been happening the last several years. She took me to my friend's house to stay the night there and she went home and to deal with him.

Are you guys desperately hoping she kicked him in the dick and then kicked him out? I was. I was hoping with all hope that this would be the last time I'd have to worry about staying another night in proximity to that asshole.

The next morning, I had to go back home to get changed to go to school. He and my mom were both there. I received the weakest ass apology from him, promising he'd never do it again, blah blah fucking blah. Stunned that he was still there, stunned that my mom was okay with this weak ass apology, and stunned that life was NOT going to be changing, I "accepted" his apology and went to my room to get ready for school. To pretend nothing ever happened.

At that point, the abuse stopped. But I never stopped walking around the house with an arm up near my breast. I refused television and would limit any and all interaction with anyone else in the house. I was in survival mode at that point. I wouldn't find safety from my mom. I had to secure my own safety. So that's what I did.

By the time I was 17, I'd enlisted in the military and used that as a means to be "allowed" to move out with some friends so my parents could get used to me being gone before I left the state. It worked. I moved out and never looked back. (I also didn't follow through with joining the military, but maybe that's a story for another day)

I've recounted the short versions of this story to several people over the years. It's made it a bit easier to talk about and I've mostly come to terms with the bullshit that I had to endure. I have always leaned into minimizing the experiences since I technically wasn't raped, but in the end, the effects are still there. The damage, while not as extensive as others have experienced, is still there.

I understand the fears involved. Being afraid to tell someone what's happening. Second guessing yourself and what's happening to you and if it's actually valid. Telling someone and then, although I was believed, having NOTHING FUCKING CHANGE.

It frustrates me to no end that so many people ask the question of abuse and assault survivors of why they didn't say something sooner. IN WHAT WORLD DOES SHIT ACTUALLY CHANGE? I've LIVED this and spoke up and NOTHING CHANGED!

Gah! Okay woooooosahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... I'll make another episode on my feelings on this.

Woosah. Woo. Sah.

In the end, abuse survivors do what they can or need to do, to survive. Our childhoods become less about being a child and more about doing whatever we can to maintain our sense of safety. Life becomes less about learning how to interact with the world and more about keeping the world from negatively interacting with us.

Some absolute trash was thrown in my garden. And for many of you, I know it's the same. Or, you have a vining plant, like Kudzu, just bashing its way through and over your garden, growing up the various plants, snuffing out their light, taking valuable nutrients from the soil, and growing so damned fast that keeping up with it is a DAILY task.

To all you survivors out there – You are not alone. You are brave and courageous for making it this far in your journey. I know how scary it is to be seen, but let others see you. Let others hear you. Let others help you. No, not everyone is equipped to help you, and not everyone can help you the way you need to be helped, but there are resources out there. I'll put some in the show notes and if I've missed any, please shoot me an email so I can add them.

Also, if you need me, I'm here for you. Feel free to shoot me an email at questionyourgarden@gmail.com if you have any questions at all or just need to vent.

I know this part of the garden is a treacherous one, but keep weeding.

Intro Audio: "Cold Sober" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) 

Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/  

  

Transition Audio: 

"Wonderful" Scott Buckley (scottbuckley.com.au)