On Being Assaulted

If you have ever read my “Child Protection First / Abuse in the Church” posts, then you know that I have strong convictions about our duties to keep our children as safe as possible. Some of this is based on the sad reality of my childhood (“I Do Not Have One Childhood Memory Apart from P*rnography”). Some of this is based on the fact that when I oversaw all of the Christian conciliation cases and church/organizational conflicts at Peacemaker Ministries, I learned that far, far too many churches are far, far too trusting when it comes to nursery workers and youth volunteers (“Are you still closing your eyes to the real risk of child sexual abuse in your church?”). But most of it is simply due to biblical convictions regarding training and protecting our children and to the realities of life in this techno-saturated, p*rn-saturated, fallen world that we now live in (“How to Keep Your Kids from Destroying Themselves with an iPhone”).

But it’s just not children who are assaulted in the church. It’s also young adults (teenagers) and even adults who can be groomed by a wicked person in a position of power and authority; preyed on; manipulated … and gravely hurt.

The thing is—up until this year, I have written about such assault and abuse from a concerned, but relatively detached, position. These evils have broken my heart; made me sick; motivated me to action—but they have remained sort of “out there.” The actual physical contact-sexual abuse I experienced as a child happened when I was very, very young and was short-lived. Thus, the memories are fuzzy and not at all traumatic. And until this year, I did not have an experience of being physically violated as an adult. So I was well-meaning in my writing and trying to help people re: this topic … but it was all very abstract to me.

And then I was physically hurt by a stranger. This year. Returning from serving at one of my events. The term “assault” is appropriate—but I fully recognize that it is also a strong term that may lead some of you to be concerned for me and/or want to know more details about specifically what happened. Please respect my decision (after seeking counsel) to not share that level of detail publicly. I know that it may seem like I “bare my soul” on this blog or at my events/in my writing, but I am actually quite purposeful about what I share beyond my “real life” / private relationships. And I am simply not going to talk about the details here. I am, however, going to talk about a few things that completely shocked me re: my experience and my response. I am doing this for two reasons:

1. I truly believe (and hope!) that this might be edifying / helpful to even just a few people—people who have been hurt and people who love people who have been hurt. And Fred and I believe that if even just one person is helped, then that is worth it.
2. One of the most terrible and terrifying parts of this experience for me has been facing my own voicelessness during the actual assault and in the immediate time period afterwards. (I never, never would have thought I would have responded the way I did. That is the thing I am working on most with Fred, my pastor, and a counselor. ) And this relatively generic blog post is one tiny step for me to try to reclaim my voice regarding this whole vile experience.

And so. Here are just a few of the descriptions of my responses to what happened—my thoughts, feelings, lack of feelings, and lack of rationality. All of these came crashing into my reality in a way that I never expected:

• How could you let this happen? Why didn’t you stop it or fight back? Why were you so voiceless? So powerless? I thought you were a strong person. You know better! You train children to say, “NO!” Why didn’t you follow your own advice and do more to protect yourself? (I have no idea. But that’s what I’m working on trying to understand so that a) this never, never happens to me again; and b) I train my children better so that, inasmuch as it is possible, I can help them to never, NEVER respond in the kind of voiceless/self-doubting way that I did.)
• How could you be so foolish as to put yourself into this situation? If only you hadn’t been in that exact location at that exact time. If only you had arrived five minutes later. (Doesn’t it seem ridiculous that victims blame themselves? I mean, c’mon! It’s so obvious that the assault was not their fault. But I don’t know that I have ever felt more ungodly shame in my life than I felt after this happened—not just shame over the situation, but ashamed of my “ridiculous” responses too … )
• You showered IMMEDIATELY afterwards?! What?! Haven’t you ever seen an episode of Law & Order or CSI? (Yes. Yes. Of course. But until this happened, I forgot just how powerful shock is and how you really do forget things you “know” and do “stupid things” when your brain shuts down and flips into complete auto-pilot / pure survival mode. Its inexplicable. Indefensible. But oh, so very real.)
• You were silent for how long after the so-called assault?! I saw you. You looked fine. Why didn’t you go immediately to the police? Or tell your husband or pastor or a friend? (All I wanted to do was close my eyes and wish it away. I have never felt this level of self-loathing and self-doubt and fear. My husband greeted me at the airport like he’s done a thousand times. My children were there. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not sure I was thinking at all. I don’t know how or why I got through those initial hours—but I did. And then, that night, I told Fred. And then I told the authorities. The next day I told my pastor. But real life was right there and I had to keep going. Life didn’t stop to allow me any margin to process this.)
• Of course I’m not mad at you, I’m mad that this happened to you. (I know this might not make any sense, but seriously. Please hear me. I’m experiencing that look of rage on your face as being mad at me. I know intellectually that you’re not mad at me. I know that it’s a “typical victim response” to experience your response as anger directed at me and I should know better. But please, please be careful. It’s not rational, I know. But I really need you to be gentle with me. I don’t know why I can’t overcome my emotions with reason and fact, but I can’t. Please just hear me when I tell you that I am experiencing your anger as anger directed at me. I want to believe the truth—that you are furious, righteously furious, at this man. But I can’t. So I am asking you to please be even more gentle with me than you can even imagine.)

 
I could go on and on. But this blog post has lingered long enough in my drafts. I have so many other writing projects that are tied to actual deadlines. And so many real-life, holiday blessings to be enjoyed—even as I continue to process all of this, little by little, in the coming years. So I think this is where I will leave things for today.

Well. Except for this. One more point:

I experienced all of those emotions as a relatively educated-on-this-topic, never-thought-I-would-ever-respond-like-this, slightly-functional adult.

Can you imagine how hard it is for children to speak up when they are hurt physically? To say NO to someone who has all of the power in the situation? To not doubt and blame themselves? To not be afraid?

Oh, friends. Please be shrewd so that no child, no teenager, no college student, no one in your life has to ever go through this.

And if a loved one ever tells you that he or she has gone through this? Please. Be kind. Don’t preach. Just be present and supportive and loving and patient. Please don’t pry for details. Yes, make sure the person gets help in his or her time. As appropriate, be wise and take the steps necessary to do all you can to ensure that the person is stopped from hurting others in the future. But please. Please be gentle. More gentle than you can ever imagine. Because seriously—whatever we imagine about another person’s suffering when they go through something like this. Just like all suffering in all of life, it really doesn’t come close to the experience.

Isn’t this why Jesus had to come in the flesh? To know our sufferings—and so much more?

Today, I am particularly grateful for the Incarnation of the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. Today, just as every day for the last thirty years, I thank God that He is not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with us (Hebrews 4:15) … but he took on flesh and knew hunger, cold, abandonment, betrayal, and abuse. Assault. He even knew what it is like for the Father to turn His face away (Mark 15;34)—which is a pain we will never know.

And so. With confidence, I draw near to the throne of grace, that I may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need (Hebrews 4:16). And I pray the same for you.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for being a big part of my feeble attempts to reclaim my voice. Thank you (please!) for not speculating or praying—but for remembering that there is a difference between public life and private life.

In Christ our Hope, our Brother, and our Friend–

Yours,
Tara B.