Survivor's Journey - Write To Life

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Breaking The Silence column, October 1994

      Resilient. I think that describes me. Survivor does too, though I know that many people, who are not survivors, have grown "tired" of hearing the word "survivor." Tabloid-style talk shows, which seek ratings and sensationalism, have not made it easier for adults who have outlived childhood sexual abuse to come forward and to risk speaking our truths about our pasts.

      The media, putting forward images and messages of people claiming to have suffered from "false memories," have played into people's willingness or, perhaps, the need to cloak themselves in denial. For people who have not abused children, it's very painful to hear that there are other adults who are capable of committing atrocities against children.

      Accepting that child abuse does happen summons uncomfortable, confusing, and conflicting feelings and thoughts in many people. Child abuse is a distressing topic. Adults sexually abusing children defy logic. And I think denial is an emotional defense that may temporarily stave off the intellect's capacity to recognize and to "know" that child maltreatment does happen as adult survivors have reported.

      On one hand, it's good when a survivor appears on TV to counterbalance a story shed by a so-called "retractor," someone formerly known as a survivor who has, in a sense, attempted to "take back" the assertion of sexual abuse by stating that the memories retrieved were "false." It's encouraging for adults who have been abused to see that someone, a survivor, is still willing to "speak out," someone who wants people to realize that there are two sides of the debate concerning the "false memory" proposition.

      Yet, on the other hand, a survivor appearing with a panel of professional talk show guests is like singing to the choir: the viewers who know all too well the realities surrounding child abuse. Most of the programs I've seen haven't been "balanced," and the hosts haven't been "objective." That's not what they're aiming for. They're competing and reaching for more viewers; higher ratings elevate the cost charged for advertising during a program. Tabloid TV doesn't care whether people believe or disbelieve reports of sexual abuse or of "false memories." Producers are looking for topics that play out as tragedies - people's lives dramatically unsettled by memories of abuse.

      Not unlike others I know, I've cheered for survivors who have gone against the grain and who have spoken out on national TV. It takes courage for a survivor to walk into a situation with the odds unfavorably stacked, a setting slanted more toward presenting controversy than anything else. I've stopped watching most TV. I don't like seeing survivors and others exploited, used to boost ratings, for programs that don't have to involve themselves with the aftermath of kindling controversy.

      Each survivor "knows" the truth of child abuse. Validation is not derived through a television. I think the best source of validation lies within one's self. This is something I've recently understood.

      Like other survivors who have confronted and challenged their self-doubts, that have arisen during their healing processes, I've gone through periods where the impact of "reality" felt too overwhelming for me. Facing the truth about my childhood felt quite crushing.

      As long as I could place some distance between knowing and feeling the facts of my past, I had space to breathe. I could go for days, and sometimes weeks, without thinking of my past; I busied myself working. I'd focus on the words other survivors sought to share, and I wanted so deeply for others to see the collective strength brought forward by survivors' individual experiences. I've lost and found myself doing the one thing that I love more than anything else: Publishing. My commitment to publishing has been a priority in my life.

      In September 1994, though, it was necessary for me to take a brief break. I'd met with investigators from a DA's Office to speak about the childhood sexual abuse I survived. One of the things that I couldn't shake afterward was the knowing and not knowing aspect. I described geographic areas, and named cities, but didn't know the addresses of the places I recalled. That upset me.

      Emotion motivated me. A few days later, I visited the areas that I'd told the investigators about, and searched for the buildings I remembered. It was a 300-mile, round-trip drive. The only things I took with me were my memories, which were all I had to go on and all I ever needed. I found my past based on the long-dormant, repressed map of memories for which my mind provided a safe-haven.

      There's a saying: "You can't go home again." I guess the truth of that statement depends on how each person defines "home." I believe ... I rediscovered my home. I located a Russian Orthodox church where I so desperately wanted to live when I was a small child and being abused. The only way to escape the abuse was to imagine how it might be to live somewhere else, where I might feel safe, without knowing, back then, though, that that's what I was seeking. The church appeared storybook-perfect to me when I was a child. My heart was there all the while I was being beaten and violated. I had created a fantasy home for myself.

      When I started searching, to see whether I could find the places I had described, the church was the first building I found. I saw it, and I knew, in an instant, that that was where I belonged. I was home. I recognized the blue domes. I circled the block a number of times, thinking that I might not find the place, I remembered, ever again, and fearing that somehow, someday, someone might take away what I'd rediscovered: The part of my past that was missing. I wanted to see what was inside the building where I had once longed to live.

      It was like that for me driving from South San Francisco to Redwood City, California; I was finally seeing that I really did live someplace as a child. (I was moved numerous times from ages 2 till I ran away from home as a teen.) Now that I've seen some of the places and I know some of the addresses, I realize that it's not very likely someone can steal my past from me, even if the buildings (some slated for deomolition) are torn down tomorrow. It's like I own a part of my life, a huge part of my childhood, again, and no one can take it away from me. I have it back; I have a history and a life I have reclaimed.

      Preparing myself emotionally to speak with investigators of my memories gave me a crash-course in feeling how it is to have additional memories rise to the surface. The mental pictures of structures, for which I had no addresses, had a profound effect on me. The outcome, based on my need to see where I lived, has felt positive.

      I hadn't cried much in the past. That changed as soon as I saw the church, which is what I think I needed. I realized that I had been in denial of sorts. The adage that best suits my eye-opening transformation is: "Seeing is believing."

      I hadn't embraced my memories to the fullest extent possible previously. I've not looked for validation outside myself. I trust my memories. I have returned the truth to myself. I am home. I am a survivor. I am also resilient as a result.

Heart-to-Heart

The Dance

Help Make Hate Homeless

Roses in Winter:
The Truth... as perceived by me
By Anne M. Cox
Copyright ©1995
Published Previously

Encouragement rains;
Words are as roses in winter,
comforting to receive, reminders of life.
I am centered, showered with gifts,
another survivor's trust in the process of telling
and blossoms of hope to reflect on....