I Will Always Wonder

I wasn’t raised in an affectionate family. My dad wasn’t affectionate towards me growing up, and even today he’s not an affectionate person. I know he loves me, he shows it many other ways, but just not through physical touch. Not having a mom around didn’t help things either. Moms are traditionally known to be the more affectionate parent and that was clearly lacking in my childhood. Basically it all boils down to the fact that growing up, I was rarely touched in a way that wasn’t abusive at the hands of my grandfather.

I often think back to the night I told my dad and step-mom about the abuse. After my grandparents left our house, my grandfather have just admitted that what I was accusing him of was true, my dad said I could go to bed. A little while later, he called me back up and asked me a couple questions to clarify some things I had said, and then I went back downstairs to my bedroom. I can remember feeling such a huge relief that the secret I had been keeping for the past seven years was finally out and I welcomed the night of sleep that lay ahead.

But I can’t help but wonder how things would have turned out, how I would have turned out, had I had a mom there to comfort me that night. What if I had had a mom to take me in her arms, hold me as I cried, and tell me over and over that the abuse wasn’t my fault and that I would be okay? In the months and years after the abuse ended, I don’t remember anyone taking me in their arms and telling me that it was okay to be sad, it was okay to be angry, and that I had done nothing to cause my abuse. As an adult woman looking back today, I think it would have done wonders to heal my heart and soul as a little girl.

Today, when I share my story with friends I’ve come to trust, I am always so conscious of how women in particular will react. There’s a part of me that is still that little girl 18 years ago, wanting a mom to comfort me in a way that I never was. When my own mom did find out about the abuse, it was in a letter that I wrote to her a few years after the abuse had stopped. Once my mom knew about the abuse, instead of being there to comfort and help me through my own pain and abuse, I remember how she seemed to make the issue all about her. On the first website I made, I had a page titled “Angels,” where I thanked those in my life who had loved me all throughout my childhood, such as my dad, and those who had come alongside to support and encourage me as I walked the healing journey. I remember my mom asking why I didn’t include her on that list, and her asking, “Didn’t you ever feel that I was someone you could talk to?” Even today, I still shake my head when I think of her asking that question. She walked out when I was three and was only around when it was convenient for her during my childhood and yet she still has the gall to ask me why I didn’t feel she was someone I could turn to for support? Seriously?

As I have reached out and shared my story with the women God has placed in my life, I have gotten some very wonderful and loving responses. These women have encouraged me and loved me through some very difficult times in my life. There is still a little part of me, though, that sometimes wishes one of these women would take me in her arms and tell me it wasn’t my fault, that I am going to be okay, and just let me cry. There is a part of me that so desperately wants that. But on the other hand, I tell myself to be practical and realistic – that I am 28 years old and not a little girl anymore. I have also built such walls around myself, training myself not to show any hint of vulnerability, that I don’t know if I could actually let myself be comforted in that way by anyone. It’s just another example of a battle that rages within me as I try to make my way to the end of this healing journey that, at times, seems like it will never end.