"El, I know this is going to come across as rude. You know I don't mean it that way...but why do you talk about it so much?" The question came sort of out of the blue. There was a slight lull in the conversation and it slipped out. I wonder how long he'd been sitting on it. We hadn't been discussing my trauma. He hadn't been specific, but I knew instantly what he was referring to. He seemed nervous, like I was so fragile I'd break at merely the question. He looked at me like I might just cut off our friendship forever because he dared to ask.
But it's a fair question. Most people don't talk about it. The thing I do is culturally unacceptable, and I know that, I do. I have often asked myself why I feel it's important. And I'm not so delicate that I can't handle a discussion about that. I think if we're really considering that question though, there's two distinct answers required. The first half demands to know why I ever bother to talk about it, the second almost abrasively wonders why I just never seem to shut up about it.
I didn't talk about my abuse publicly for over 6 years. I never brought it up. I held my tongue when someone else brought him up. I tried to participate in conversations as if he had never touched my life. I kept my story of surviving him close to my chest like it was my dirty little secret. And it was deeply unhealthy for me. I became this enigmatic shadow of a human being that would frequently lash out at people around in unexplained trauma responses.
I talk about my abuse because I refuse to continue to carry this sense of shame for how someone else chose to act towards me. I know now that I didn't do anything to deserve what he did to me. Having abuse in my story shouldn't reflect negatively on me, but it's often implied that it does. There's such a stigma for abuse survivors to keep it hidden, and I won't buy into it anymore. I won't stay silent because I don't feel shameful in talking about it.
I discuss the uncomfortable parts of my life because it's healing for me. Every time I speak or write about his behavior or my recovery process, it helps me make sense of my childhood. I once read that the deepest desire of the human heart is to be both fully known and fully loved at once. Having some semblance of that is good for me, but I can't even begin to grasp at that unless I'm allowing someone to fully know me.
I speak about his behavior because it reflects negatively on my abuser. Is this probably a less than ideal reason? Absolutely. It's true though. It is repulsive to me that he has been the only one writing the story of our lives for all those years, and writing himself in as the victim. Even though they will likely never hear my words, it is important to me that there is a version of his reputation out there that is accurate and that people who might be entering his life could seek out. Me not speaking up for myself enables him to continue to suck in people to use in his twisted game.
I try to be honest about where I was at the time because I truly didn't know his actions weren't normal. No one ever told me I could stand up for myself. No one ever thought to mention that other parents didn't act like he did. And if I didn't know those things, there have to be other people who still don't. Maybe, just maybe, one of them will stumble across my words.
After 6 years, I bring it up because I'm no longer unprepared to have conversations about it. People were perfectly willing to ask me about why we left when we left. I think they've all written off me ever wanting to talk at this point though. I'm not delicate, fragile, or easily breakable at this point in my life.
I write about my history of being abused because it makes you uncomfortable to read. Sorry, not sorry. I understand you don't want to have these conversations with me. I know you can't relate to what I'm talking about. I am extremely aware that you would love to not have to think about it. But you need to. People need to be more aware of the markers of childhood abuse that aren't bruises. Children like me need the circles of protection I didn't have. You can't be part of those circles if you don't know they exist. Trust me, if I survived living the stories I'm gonna tell you, you can sure as hell survive being uncomfortable while hearing them.
Now, I know the question you really care about is the second half. Why the hell can't I just shut up about it for just one damn conversation? Why can't I relegate it to just the serious conversations? Why do I keep bringing it up when we're just trying to have fun? To steal my sister's favorite question to ask me, why do you have to be like this?
Because I can't. You can hear what I'll tell you, put the lid on the box, and shove it back on the shelf. It doesn't exist in a box for me. It was my life. It is woven through almost all of my memories. Everything I experience is still filtered through my overactive nervous system and hyper-focused brain.
I talk about my abuse story so often because it affects me that often. It runs through my mind that frequently. I'm not laying awake at night trying to manufacture ways to sneak my depressing stories into our conversations. When the conversation triggers a childhood memory for you, you insert it into the conversation without considering what you're doing. When the same happens to me, you cringe and wish I hadn't. It truly is the same thing. It's just that your stories are family Christmases and mine are my uncle's funeral.
If I'm being honest, I talk about it as often as I do because I believe I have just as much right to share my life's stories as you do to share yours, even if that makes you uncomfortable. I spent 16 years of my life trying to fit myself into the box he was comfortable having me in. I choose to talk about my story because it is good for me to do so. And I won't deny myself further healing to spare you some momentary discomfort.
