Innocence Revisited

by Cathy Kezelman

  It was horrid facing the dreadful things the Cloaks forced me to do. Part of their indoctrination was designed to make me feel bad and for years I hated myself; I hated myself so much that I almost destroyed myself. It took a long time for me to put the shame and blame back where it belonged, so that I could finally move on.

  For a number of years I’ve been volunteering for a charity which helps adult survivors of child abuse deal with the impact of their abuse. There’s nothing unique about an individual using a personal legacy to drive a passion for a cause. If I can’t change my past, I can certainly change my future and hopefully the life’s course of some fellow survivors as well. Perhaps I can turn the legacy of my abuse into positive action and ensure that my suffering wasn’t completely in vain.

  My journey of recovery has been long and fraught. I often felt like giving up, but I’m so glad that I didn’t. Life is too precious to be thrown away and no matter how desolate one feels, life can and does improve; it’s simply a matter of holding on through the worst of it until you come out on the other side. Every survivor has been granted the gift of life, not once, or twice but over and over again. It’s a gift that deserves to be celebrated.

  And survivors deserve to be proud of what they’ve achieved. They have survived under the very worst of circumstances; when they were young and innocent and trusting. It takes a lot of strength for a child to withstand the insults or onslaughts of adults. Survivors deserve to be admired, for they did survive when many others couldn’t.

  Had I not consistently received the right support, I would not be alive to tell my story. It’s tragic to imagine how many people have not survived for lack of the right support. I sure came close. It’s not an easy road; many survivors struggle from day to day with the simplest of tasks that others take for granted. How many amazing people could society have helped, had someone listened or offered a helping hand? How much more compassionate would we as a society be, if we were to embrace our most vulnerable members?

  When children don’t get their needs met, they try to satisfy their needs in other ways. Sometimes those ways aren’t constructive; especially in adulthood. Relationships fail and employment and educational opportunities are lost. And the pain survivors feel can cause addictions, self harm and suicidal thoughts. Mental and physical ills, brushes with the law… the possible effects are manifold.

  Society’s pervasive view is that adults should be able to look after themselves; they should stop whinging and get over it. If only that were the case! You can’t just ‘get over it’ when you’ve been abused because you don’t know how to. The abuse you suffered lives on in the present and it affects the way you think, the way you react and how you behave. Worst of all it sabotages the way you feel about yourself.

  Abuse makes you feel worthless and those feelings of worthlessness become ingrained. Your self esteem plummets and you feel ashamed and powerless. You had no say in what happened to you. Your personal boundaries were shattered, your innocence stolen and your sense of self, exploded. When you’re betrayed by the very people who are meant to care for you and protect you, the world becomes dangerous and you stop trusting anybody. You learn to withdraw and hide away until isolation becomes a way of being.

  Child abuse dismantles a child’s inner core at a time when it is only beginning to take shape. Without a strong core you can’t feel confident, content or empowered. Child victims are made to feel guilty and ashamed. They blame themselves and they live in fear of being abused again, of not being looked after and of experiencing even more emotional and physical pain. Children who are abused often feel isolated and alone, as if there is no-one to turn to, or trust. Adult survivors often feel the same way. Abuse is isolating. It can alienate a person from those who might be able to help and from the community in which they live.

  By some measures I’m a ‘lucky’ survivor. Not only do I have a loving family around me, but I have some very special friends, friends who’ve stood by me through thick and thin. Friends who’ve rung me when I couldn’t ring them; friends who’ve come and taken me out when I would have stayed hidden in bed left to my own devices. I’ve also been lucky to be financially comfortable, to be able to afford help for as long as I needed it. And I was lucky with my therapist too. To find someone with the skill, empathy and endurance to walk alongside me for so many years has been fortuitous to say the least. These are privileges that few survivors enjoy.

  Despite my advantages, I’ve still had one hell of a time. I wouldn’t wish my experiences on anyone. I still struggle; there are times I still feel especially alone and alienated. Some of it is the human condition and the rest undoubtedly stems from my experiences. It’s hard because on some level I’m different and always will be. Yet I’ve also been given the opportunity to explore myself and understand myself much more deeply than most.

  For the first time in years I am filled with a sense of hope and quiet enthusiasm. Prior to starting therapy I was fiercely goal-driven. I worked compulsively to dispense with tasks as they arose, b ut rarely stopped to ‘smell the roses’. I was oblivious to much of what was happening around me. I appeared successful and by the usual societal measures I was. However I felt empty on the inside. I didn’t know how to nurture myself; I hadn’t learnt because I hadn’t been nurtured consistently before. I rarely felt grounded and felt emotionally detached from myself as well as from those around me. For a long time I wouldn’t risk getting too close to anybody because doing so would mean putting myself at risk all over again and I wasn’t prepared to do that.

  I was a successful doctor dispensing advice and wisdom and yet I had little insight. Worst of all, I had no ability to sit back and reflect on what I was doing. I would react to situations as if by reflex and lacked the capacity to consider my responses and make choices about my behaviour. My patterns of behaviour were so ingrained that I had little inkling that life could be lived differently.

  When I was in the thick of recovering memories and the processing that followed, I struggled to survive day to day. The past overwhelmed the present and was often so compelling, that the present almost ceased to exist. And as for the future, I couldn’t even imagine one. I was unable to plan even the simplest of activities; to me there didn’t appear to be a future. I was depressed, anxious and often seriously out of it. The acts perpetrated on me made me a victim and I remained a victim long after the abuse ended. Letting go of being defined solely as a victim has been an important step for me. I was a victim and I became a survivor but my abuse is only one part of me.

  As my separate parts showed me, I have lots of aspects to my personality. Accepting them has allowed me to reclaim much of myself. As I’ve integrated the parts I’ve grown stronger and developed a right to have my own thoughts and feelings and claim a personality that is distinctively mine.

  I don’t imagine my journey is finished. There’s still a way to go no doubt, yet I know that I’ve come a long way. The good news is that I can now engage with my life in the present and envisage a future. Now I’m not only anticipating a future, but actively planning all sorts of things. I’ve learnt that I can sit back and think things through. I have the right to choose whatever I want and once chosen I can embrace my choices and celebrate them. I have many things I want to do; writing this book and others, travelling, exploring, dancing, reading, music, theatre, films… the list goes on. But whatever I choose to do, I am thrilled that I can choose and revel in those choices.

  I’m particularly enjoying watching my, now adult, children achieve greater independence. They’ve had a lot to work through, but together and with outside support they have come a long way. It’s been hard on them, watching me struggle and more recently, reading my story. It’s been very confronting for them and will be when others read it as well. I deliberated long and hard about whether I should publish this book as I was concerned about how it would affect them. I’m still worried about how they’ll cope, but they have given me their blessing and so I am proceeding.

  I
know the damage that family secrets can cause and even though much of what I’ve written is hard for them, I am convinced that not saying will hurt them more. I hope I’m right. My process of recovery has certainly brought a new level of understanding to the family. We can discuss things much more openly than ever before and be aware of one another’s needs in a far more constructive way.

  I’m grateful that through my process of recovery I am becoming more available to my husband and children and their needs. And that now I have the insight and the patience to be available to them in a far more constructive way than before. I can sit beside them when they are in pain and be there in a way which I never experienced myself. I am grateful that we, as a family have survived stronger than ever and we have many more good years to share - my children are my proudest achievement!

  As my children deal with the impact of my issues and their own, I want them to know that I will be there for them as much and maybe even a little more than they would hope for. I’m proud that I’ve broken the cycle of abuse into which I was born. For my children will be the first generation in our family to have broken free from the scourge of abusive silence.

  As I emerge from my personal holocaust into the light of a new day, I gaze across at the dawning of the next phase of my life and I am truly blessed.

  acknowledgments

  First and foremost I owe my immediate family a massive debt of thanks. To say that these last 11 years have not been easy is a mammoth understatement; not many husbands would have stood by waiting for their wife to emerge as mine did. To my husband Dan, thank you for being there and supporting me unconditionally. To my children - Tamara, Julian, Sarah and Gina, each and every one of you is a remarkable human being. I am so proud of you; thank you all for being you. I would have preferred for none of us to have had to undertake this journey but as we had no choice I am so grateful that we have done it together. Our family is strong and united despite it all.

  To Kate, my therapist, for your steadfast and unerring support, for your belief in me when I had long stopped believing in myself. I cannot imagine how you managed to hold me and keep me safe when so much conspired to destroy me. I sit in awe and abject appreciation of your commitment and devotion, which persisted unerringly even through endless intrusions into your family and personal time. It’s hard to put my gratitude into words. How can you ever truly thank the person who saved your life, time and again? My fervent wish is that other fellow survivors are as fortunate.

  To my dear friend Sue, I do not believe I could have made it through without you walking every step of my journey alongside me. You were always there, reaching in to pull me out of my hole as well as listening to and hearing the unspeakable, without judgment or aversion. I don’t know how many coffees we have shared or cafes we have retreated to. You and your family have embraced not only me but all of our family and provided us with the warmth and support we have needed to help sustain us. To my other close and dear friends with whom I shared my journey, to Jane and Lyn and to so many others, thank you.

  I cannot let the publication of this book pass without mentioning the members of my writers’ group. To Susie, now a published author and Lorraine, whose talent is awaiting the time and space to come to fruition, the mutual support we have offered one another in pursuit of our craft has been a rare treat.

  To Riima for her brilliant insights and compassion in reviewing and editing my manuscript. To Charlotte, Barry, Jo and Liz for helping turn my manuscript into a book on the shelves. I would also like to make particular mention of Susanne Gervay and Prof Freda Briggs for taking the time out of their busy schedules to read the manuscript and for their most generous words of endorsement.

  There are many people who have supported me in this process over a very long period. Rest assured that your kindness has not been forgotten.

  Dr Cathy Kezelman