What Was Stolen
By: Cary Bach Donahou
Tags: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Metoo, Family, Trigger, PTSD

I have lost out on a mother, a father, sisters, a brother, grandparents, cousins, countless friends… all because my dad is a pedophile, a child rapist, a molester, a monster.

You wonder how this can be, because I do have a mother and father, siblings, and relatives… But, if your mother doesn’t love you, and instead hates you because it’s easier than facing her own guilt, is she really a mother? Is a father who sexually abuses you, really a father?

All of us siblings went our own separate ways as fast as we were able. Growing up together was hard. One sister ran away. The other was forced to care for us, cook, clean, do laundry. It’s too hard to be around each other all the time, and be reminded of the trauma. This isn’t to say that we don’t care about each other, but it’s easier and less painful to practice “out of sight, out of mind” than to be close.

Grandparents who opted out because of the trauma, grandparents who had already blamed their own children for the trauma they inflicted upon them. Are they really grandparents if they never learn to spell your name, don’t call or write, don’t know anything about you?

And so many friends I could have made if I had anything in common with them. My peers hadn’t been through what I had, and with no one to help me to understand the abuse, I had to interpret it in my own ways. I didn’t understand they hadn’t been through the same things as myself. I was on the outside, always looking in. Until I started to unconsciously recognize trauma in others and be drawn to them. Even then I still wanted to belong to the ones who hadn’t lived through trauma.

Moms who loved their daughters, Fathers who didn’t abuse, siblings who were close, cousins as close as siblings, grandparents who took an active interest. These things were all I wanted, but not what I had.

Always fumbling along trying to find where I belonged. It was very lonely growing up. It can still be lonely. I have five sisters. Four of which I never talk to. One I can talk to, but it’s not easy and I can’t talk about what hurts me the most. We text mainly at birthdays and holidays. I try to go visit every year, can’t always make it, but it’s always amazing when I do. She was always more my mom than my sister. I don’t blame them, though. I could never do that. I really do understand. It still hurts though. I always wanted a sister who was a best friend.

I have a brother, I always wished we would be close. We fought all the time. I think because my mom loved him and not me. As adults we are very different. We don’t speak often, just birthdays and holidays, or when I go visit. We don’t fight now. However, he used to interact with my social media, but not since I began blogging. That hurts, too.

I have an amazing Aunt. I love her so very very much… but she is also “out of sight, out of mind”. Not that we have any issues between us, and I know she loves me as well. But when you share trauma, you see it in the people who share in it with you. It’s not easy to see each other or have close relationships. You become each other’s triggers. Not everyone is in the same place in their healing. It’s messy. It’s hard. It’s painful.

My brother and I have three younger sisters, they don’t want to confront the truth, or be confronted with it. Which means a relationship is out of the question, as I will no longer pretend the abuse didn’t happen.

Trauma is so much more than the act. When my dad chose to abuse us, he broke everything. He stole our mother, our childhood, our family, our chance for unconditional love. There is nothing I can do to heal all of us and knit us back together. It’s my lot, and I am working with what I have. I’m not giving up, or giving in. I am realizing though just how far reaching his actions were.

My older sisters, myself, and our younger brother we’ve all gone our own way. Started our own families, built something we never had growing up. What we’ve accomplished is truly amazing considering all we went through, all we must struggle with in our lives.

Healing is hard work. There are so many complexities that I must hold simultaneously to understand how it has affected every part of my being. The trauma of being sexually abused by my dad, and then the trauma inflicted by my mom who pretended it didn’t happen, while still actively blaming us for it. There is so much unraveling to be done, to weave myself back into who I am.