My Story

"Simply to tell the truth heals. The blood of the wound heals the wound." - Susan Griffin

My story begins when I was three years old. My parents got divorced, and my dad got custody of my older brother and I. We lived about an hour and a half away from my dad's parents, and went to see them almost every weekend. My grandfather was a preacher and so we would go to his church on Sunday mornings. During one of those weekend visits, my grandfather started to sexually abuse me. I don't remember much about the abuse at that stage of my life.
            The summer before I started second grade, my dad decided to move to the town where my grandparents lived. My dad didn't know the abuse was happening and thought it would be better for my brother and I to stay with my grandparents while he was working instead of at a baby-sitter's. My mom wasn't helping support my brother and I at all, so my dad had to work a lot to be able to support the two of us on his own. People have asked me if I blame my dad at all for what happened because he was working so much, but I don't blame him one bit. I know how hard it was for him as a single parent to be supporting two kids by himself. I know that he was doing what he had to do to be able to give us everything we needed. No, I don't blame him at all.
            So, we began to stay at my grandparents an awful lot. The abuse began to happen every day, basically whenever my grandfather got the chance. My dad worked shifts, so we stayed at my grandparents house at different times of the day each week, depending on what shift he was working. Sometimes we would be there all day, other times all night, it varied from week to week. My grandma worked during the day at the county courthouse, and since my grandfather was a preacher, he could do most of his work at his office at the church when my brother and I were in school. Since we often spent at least two hours every day alone with my grandfather after school, he had plenty of opportunities to abuse me.
            I had a best friend at the time, Meredith, who lived right around the corner from my grandparents, just a short walk from their house. Meredith and I loved to play together everyday after school, sometimes at my grandparent’s house and sometimes at her house. I remember that my grandfather would use this as an opportunity to get what he wanted from me. I would come home after school and ask if either I could go to Meredith's or if she could come over there. My grandfather would ask, "What will you do for me?" That's when the abuse would start and when he was satisfied, I was allowed to go play. I wanted so much to play with Meredith that I was willing to do anything, and he knew that and used it against me. The thing is, I never remember letting what he did to me affect my time playing with Meredith. I remember playing many games of "pretend" or just talking together with her and never once did I let the abuse bring me down or distract me from having a good time with her. It was my way of proving to myself, and to him I guess, that even though he had control over me during the times he would abuse me, he wasn't going to control the rest of my life.
            There were three bedrooms in my grandparent’s house besides the master bedroom. Two of them were upstairs and the other one was downstairs. One of the bedrooms upstairs was used as an office of some sorts, leaving two bedrooms for my brother and I to stay in when we spent the night. My brother never wanted to sleep downstairs, I think because it was so dark down there and felt so separate from the rest of the house. Since I was always the type to give in easily, I let him sleep upstairs and I took the bedroom downstairs. Funny, now that I think about it, my brother was so afraid to sleep down there because it was so dark and little did he, or anyone, know of the true evils that took place in that bedroom. When we would stay the night there, my grandfather would whisper in my ear, "Stay awake tonight."  Then he would wait until my grandma had gone to bed and was asleep before coming down into the bedroom. There were a couple times when I thought that I could outsmart him and I pretended to be asleep. Those nights, he would stand in the doorway and stare at me for a few minutes and then leave. The next night, though, the abuse would last longer or be even worse to punish me for the night before. He would always say, "This is what you get for falling asleep." Needless to say, I learned my lesson pretty quickly.
            Another time that my grandfather would abuse me was in the car when my grandma was shopping. When we got to the store, my grandfather would decide that he wanted to stay in the car and that I could stay with him so my grandma could get her shopping done faster. My brother hardly ever came along on these trips and when he did, he would usually go in the store with my grandma. Once my grandfather and I were alone, he would make me get on the floor in the back seat and take off my pants and underwear. He would touch and fondle me for what seemed like hours until he saw my grandma come out of the store, and then he would tell me to get dressed again and pretend that everything was fine. My grandma never suspected a thing, my grandfather was always really careful not to get caught.

My grandfather used various lies to keep me from telling anyone about the abuse. Sometimes he would tell me he would get in a lot of trouble, other times he would tell me I would get in a lot of trouble if I told. Sometimes he would tell me that if my dad ever found out, he was going to be so angry with me and I remember knowing that was the last thing in the world I wanted. My biggest fear when I was little was losing my dad, whether it be to an accident or by his leaving just like my mom had done. These lies from my grandfather imprinted in me a deep sense of fear of anyone finding out about the abuse.
            This all lasted until one afternoon when I was ten years old. I can remember exactly what happened that day that made me decide to tell. My dad had just gotten remarried a couple weeks before. My new step-mom was a teacher at the school my brother and I went to, and we would go with her early in the mornings and just hang out in her classroom until other kids got there and then we'd go play on the playground. On that one morning, my step-mom had a meeting and my brother and I were left alone in her classroom. I don't remember if we were fighting (my brother and I never got along when we were little) or if we were playing some game or what, but apparently we were making a lot of noise. I guess one of the other teachers told my step-mom how noisy we were being and that afternoon in the car on the way home she was talking to us about it. I remember exactly where we were in town when she said the words that convinced me I had to tell. She said, "Well, I guess you two will just have to start going to your grandparent’s house before school instead of coming with me." I knew right then and there that I was going to tell. I didn’t care what was going to happen to me or to my grandfather as a result of my telling, I just knew I couldn’t take the abuse anymore. So, when we got home that afternoon, I went downstairs into my room, and wrote my dad and step-mom a letter. Even now, when I have something important to say, I say it in a letter because it's just easier for me to express myself and explain my feelings that way. I recently found the letter I wrote them and even reading it now takes me back to that night and all the days and nights of abuse. Looking back, I find it amazing that I was able to write such a letter at the tender age of ten. Now I know that it was God giving me the strength to write it. After I wrote the letter, I went and put it on my dad and step-mom's bed. The next thing I remember is that my brother and I were sitting on the living room floor upstairs dividing up a bunch of Halloween candy that our mom had just sent us. I saw the two of them go downstairs and I remember thinking, "This is it, I can't take it back now." I knew there was no turning back and my secret was out.
            That night, my dad and step-mom sat my brother and I down on the couch before we went to bed and we got a lecture about our behavior that morning at school. I remember my dad being very angry. After we had been talked to about that, my dad asked my brother to go downstairs and go to bed. My dad held up my letter and asked if it was true. I started crying and told him that it was true. At first he didn't believe me. He then kept saying, "Tell me what he does to you." I was too ashamed to tell him exactly what my grandfather had done to me so I kept answering back, "I told you in the letter what he does to me." That wasn't good enough for him, he said he wanted to hear me say the words. He was angry, very angry. We argued back and forth about that for a good ten, fifteen minutes. There was no way I could tell him out loud all the things my grandfather did to me. Eventually, he switched tactics and said, "Well, we'll just call your grandfather and have him come over and we can ask him if it's true." I didn't want this to happen either, I was scared to death as it was and didn’t want to have to face my grandfather on top of it all. Here I had just told this huge, horrible secret I kept for years and no one believed me. The last thing I wanted was to have to face my grandfather. So I kept saying "No, I don't want you to call him," and my dad would answer back, "Then I guess it's not true, is it?" We argued back and forth about this for awhile. I don't remember if my step-mom ever said anything, and if she did, what she said. All I can remember is what my dad kept saying.

Finally, I think he realized how scared I was and he said, "Ang, I won't let him hurt you." I gave in and told him to call my grandfather. The next thing I remember is my grandma and grandfather coming in the door and walking up the stairs. My grandma had a questioning look on her face, wondering what this was all about. I think when my grandfather saw me, and the looks on my dad and step mom's faces, he knew what was going on. There were two couches – I was sitting in between my dad and step-mom on one of them, and my dad asked my grandparents to sit on the other. Once they sat down, my dad handed my letter to my grandma since she was the closest one to him. She read the letter, and I don't remember what her facial expressions were or anything. She handed the letter to my grandfather and he read it. When he was finished, my dad asked him if it was true. My grandfather said it was and my dad asked him to leave the house. I remember watching my grandfather walk down the stairs and out the door and it would be more than ten years before I would see him again. I don't remember what happened after that, except that my grandma gave me a hug and was crying. She told me how sorry she was and that she had no idea it was happening. She left and I was told I could go to bed. I remember walking down the stairs and into my bedroom, lying on my bed and thinking, "It's over, it's all over."
 
 

"We (survivors) are people whose inner core is an untouched reservoir of strength, otherwise we could never have survived." - Incest Survivors Anonymous