It Gets Better, And Interesting

I really had no idea what the last post on this blog was going to do to my in-box. I received over three-hundred emails from people who were moved by what I’d written. Survivors, those struggling through hurt. I laughed, I cried. I was humbled beyond belief. Despite the enormity of the prospect, I felt compelled to respond. Respond, initially, to all but five emails. I just couldn’t get over the notion that each of those voices—whether that of overcomer, or that of the hurting, deserved acknowledgement for what they shared.

I am proud to have made the electronic acquaintance of so many truly strong individuals who have triumphed through unimaginable abuse. I am inspired by the quiet strength, courage, and grace of so many people in this community. I encourage those of you who can find your voice, to tell others that they are not alone. Your stories have purpose, they have the power to heal, to help others overcome.

I have been moved by the heart-rending stories of people still struggling with the unrelinquished hurt, fear, and betrayal. I encourage those of you still hurting to take just one small brave step and begin connecting with someone who will hear your pain and help you find your way. It makes no matter whether that person is a professional, a neighbor, a stranger. It DOES get better.

What has kept me from posting a follow-up for over a month now, has been the other five emails. Four of them have had the audacity to assert that victims of sexual assault—including that which happens to the very young—bear some measure of responsibility in the act. To those individuals, let me be so bold as to speak on behalf of a multitude of people when I say this:

Any act that ends with someone saying, “And if you tell your mom this happened…” is pretty much not a consensual act. Any act that a child cries “No” to repeatedly, even when punched for doing so, is not a consensual act. Any act that leaves a child growing up to feel that he or she is not worthy of another person’s pure and genuine affections, is not a consensual act. Every adult bears the responsibility to not inappropriately touch a child… no matter how your twisted, messed up perspective might view that child’s behavior.

These are the most constructive things I can think to say to the four individuals who suggested that the molestation of a child is not the perpetrator’s fault. I have many other things I’d like to say, but will reserve judgment and take the higher road.

The final email I have wrestled with since the moment I opened it. Almost a month ago.

I received an email from someone who molested me when I was eleven years old. The email was succinct, remorseful, and requested the opportunity to meet with me to apologize. I have thought over the past four weeks as to how—and whether—to respond. It’s not that I haven’t forgiven what happened. I have. A long time ago. And without the fear and discomfort I imagine would come from such a face-to-face encounter. Thirty years is a lot of time to put between me and some very painful experiences. Thirty years is almost the amount of time it has taken me to get over it. I have not really been able to convince myself that opening old wounds is really productive in this instance.

Today, one of my Facebook friends posted on his wall: “Listening may be the most loving thing you do today.” I don’t know why, today of all days, this hit me so hard. Or why I connected it to this email I’ve been pondering.

Today, I emailed this man and suggested that I am willing to entertain meeting him, with some safeguards and conditions. Why? Curiosity? Closure? I guess I’ve been mulling that over for all these weeks. Today, I figured out the answer:

For love; of self, of God, of others. Listening seems a small price to pay for the privilege and opportunity that are contained in those gifts.