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The trauma doesn’t end when the abuse does
Today’s post is brought to you by a very dear friend of the Sisterwives. He has endured much, and tries to continue as cheerfully as possible – or at least, continue. In spite of the variety of his experience, nothing in his life so far had prepared him for this… Scott, you convey so much in such a short space, and it is a solemn, heartbreaking moment in your history. Thank you for trusting us with it – Lizzi
We laid in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, unclothed. We were both spent and catching our breath after having made love. The room was unlit and, other than the sound of our breathing, inescapably quiet.
A new sound crept in and gently dashed the silence. It took me a few moments, but I eventually identified the sound. She was weeping.
I pulled away from her and regarded her quizzically. “What’s wrong, honey?”
She didn’t immediately answer. She appeared to be fighting an internal battle, conflicted inside. She wiped her eyes, cleansing them of tears. When she finally responded, her voice was cracked and fragmented. “I need to ask you a question,” she timidly said between heaving breaths.
“Sure,” I responded. “Anything.”
“I need to know that you’ll never hurt my daughter.” And with that, the floodgates opened. She began bawling in earnest. Tears poured from her eyes like a water from a broken faucet. The hell she had endured as an abused child was evident as was the fear that her daughter would suffer that same hell.
At first I was offended by the assumption that I would commit such an atrocity on her little girl, but as I beheld her, broken, traumatized, and sobbing, I realized this question was more about her daughter and less about me. I realized that she would be asking this question no matter who was here in my place. I realized just how deep the scars from her abuse ran.
My indignity quickly subsided and I took her back into my arms. I squeezed her with all the strength I had within them. With the most soothing voice I could muster, I told her that, no, I would not ever hurt her daughter.
It didn’t seem possible, but this made her cry even harder. Guttural shrieks escaped her. She wailed incomprehensibly, the rivers streaming from eyes overflowing with pain.
I was completely paralyzed. I had no idea what to do or say. This was the first time I had ever been confronted with the consequences of abuse. Before I met her abuse was something I had only heard about. It happened to other people. It wasn’t real. She made it real for me. There were sick people out there who would violate young girls and get away with it.
Completely lacking any appealing options, I decided just to hold her tightly and let her cry it out. There was nothing else I could do. There was nothing else I could say. There was no magical deed I could commit to ease her pain or erase her fears.
So I just held her.
Scott, sometimes known as Twindaddy (or TD, for short), is an eccentric blogger and writer-wannabe who dabbles in essays, editorials, poetry, and fiction. He also writes about being a single father and his struggles with mental health.
For years he blogged from behind the mask of an Imperial stormtrooper, but recently came out of the closet (so to speak) as an actual human being. For the truly warped, you can check out his ramblings on Finding Twindaddy, where he vomits incoherent words all over the internet. You can also follow him on Twitter, where he tries to contain his brilliance to 140 character outbursts.
Dear Scott,
This was beautiful and tragic all at once. I’m an outsider who only knows you from this cyber space, but I’m going to say something very candid and hope you feel my heartfelt intention. You often sell yourself short, so I hope you are able to read back over what you just shared and know that you were a huge blessing to her…even on the days it didn’t feel like it. There will forever be an unspoken power in the silent, strong hug and hold – more magic than you will ever know.
So cool to see you over here. xoxoxo
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Thanks, Michelle. I was a 20 year old child when this happened, very ignorant in many ways of the world. What she endured is heartbreaking. The long-lasting affects are even more heartbreaking still. I wish I could tell you this story had a happy ending.
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I know you’ve spoken of her before and it makes my heart ache.
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Mine, too, dear. Mine, too.
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Scott, you’ve written beautifully about this. Wow.
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Thank you, Michelle.
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This is a really hard story to comment on. Because I want to talk about the beauty of the writing, but the tragedy of the story saddens me in ways I can’t really explain, nor do I want to.
Thank you for giving us this story.
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Quite frankly, I don’t find anything beautiful about this post. What this woman (and her sister) endured at the hands of their abuser is absolutely horrifying. The way that these traumatic events have shaped their lives is incredibly sad.
While I appreciate your praise, I felt it important to share this (again) because abuse isn’t just something that happens and then it’s over. The consequences of abuse often last a life time.
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Scott, as a survivor of abuse, I can say with certainty that there was beauty in that moment, your silence. And there is beauty in your words, your understanding of how deep the hurt runs. And you are correct, the consequences of abuse often do last a lifetime.
I still work to hide the scars left behind by my abusers. It took me 5 years to be able to talk to the father of my children about the things I’d been through, and I still can’t bring myself to tell him everything, because I can see how much it hurts him to hear about it, I can see the anger he has for those who have hurt me in the past, and I try to remember that he is not them.
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Hi, SML. I guess I just have trouble finding the beauty in that moment at all. The avalanche of anguish was overwhelming and I wasn’t even the one hurting.
I understand much better now than I did back then how to handle a situation like this. Back then I merely held her because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Now I know it’s really the only thing I SHOULD do.
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Scott, I can only hope that most people would react to her pain the same way you did. You didn’t try to “fix” it. You just held her. And I’m sure that’s precisely what she needed. You are a good person and I’m glad to know you.
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Sadly, Gretchen, I AM a fixer by nature and if I could have conceived a way to try and fix this I probably would have tried. Thank you for your kind words.
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Scott, this was just as painful the second time around. You are a good man and don’t you forget it. Hugs.
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Thank you, Jaded. I’m certainly glad you think so.
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Hardest thing to understand and not give in to the instinctual reaction, and you nailed it: this was not about you. And then you supported her, unconditionally. What a wonderful soul you have. 🙂
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To be honest, if she wasn’t sobbing and broken when she had asked, I might have reacted differently. I’m just glad I realized what was going on and didn’t do anything stupid.
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Scott…*waves from across the street* If all abused women could find arms like yours…You’re a good man. I’m not surprised.
I’m going to comment on the writing because it’s brutiful, which is our favorite style here. As one of our biggest supporters and dearest friends, I’m so glad you finally chose to share some words here. I adore you, but this you know (and not just because I’m watching you.)
Thank you for this post. It’s a new point of view that we all need to hear.
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Thank you, Mandi. You’ve left me speechless.
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Scott, this post is a gift. Thank you for sharing such a delicate moment, and for being a positive example of how to deal with a situation like this. I echo every comment that came before mine. You are such a talented writer and a beautiful soul. xo
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Thank you, Beth.
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I think the title of the piece drives home how Post Traumatic Stress never truly heals, and like a bad acid flashback, can be triggered at the strangest times. Your understanding of this is very powerful, Scott, and your telling of it was excellent.
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No, it never heals. It may become easier to deal with as time wedges itself endlessly between the trauma and the present, but it’s always lurking.
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This is beautifully written and beautifully done.
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Thank you.
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Scott, I haven’t been on much but decided to do a little reading this morning and when I saw you here I knew I had to read this. You are one of my favorite people because I have a pretty good instinct when it comes to genuine kindness and honest compassion. This drove that home. What you did for her in that moment was probably exactly what she needed. Sometimes what we feel is too little is more than enough. Thank you for sharing this incredibly intimate part of your life. It speaks volumes on many, many levels.
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Honestly, I haven’t been on much either, Sandy. Thank you for your kind words and your support.
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Stuff like this gives me faith in humanity. Thanks and blessings.
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Faith in humanity is something I lose more of by the second. I’m glad I was able to positively impact yours.
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Sometimes, hanging on, holding onto each other, is the best option whether it is the only option or not.
You are a good person. You help set the standard the rest of us should hold ourselves to.
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“You help set the standard the rest of us should hold ourselves to.”
Oh, DJ. You’re so deluded. Thank you for thinking that, though.
And, yes. Sometimes holding each other is the only thing you can do when there are no answers.
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The standard isn’t “who we are,” it’s “who we try to be, who we strive to be.”
I’m not deluded… I’m a jester, we see the truths of the world and spin them out masked as entertainment.
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Well, I would hope that many of us strive to be much better than we are.
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Tears and goose bumps – over here! For many reasons. The beautiful way you wrote this. Your compassionate respond to her despair. Your ability to realize that it wasn’t about you but about her daughter and her pain. The message that the pain never goes away.
But most importantly Scott, this brought it all home to me. I am that woman you speak of. I too feared/fear for my daughter and son. I too deal with the pain. I have never spoken about this in public but somehow your words have given me a bit more courage to do so. xo
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Chica, that my words have inspired you to share your own struggles is the greatest gift. Obviously, I’m very, very sorry that you have endured any sort of abuse, but I can honestly tell you that talking about it, while scary at first, is extremely liberating. And you’ll find that you’re not alone. Not by a long shot. And there is much therapeutic value in releasing your demons through prose. If there’s anything I can do to help by all means let me know.
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It’s been safer to bury it all in neverland. Mr. B knows all and has been wonderful but it haunts me. Someday I will let it all hang out. After all, that’s what my blog says I should do.
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I can only speak for myself, but I can tell you that having written out all the things in my past that haunt me has been essential to me letting go of most of it. Not sure how or why, but it helped a great deal.
You have a really supportive reader base, too, so that will be extremely helpful if/when you decide to share your story.
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Scott, this story is moving and personal for me, as you know. I’ve been that weeping woman. Whether you realize it or not, you changed her life in that moment. You let her show you the kind of fear and pain that so few of us show anyone. Thank you for sharing this story and a lesson on compassion we can all learn from. xoxo ~Dawn
p.s. Sharing.
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Thank you, Dawn, for sharing this story. I DO know this is personal to you, and you are more than welcome to share this wherever you’d like. I just hope sharing this helps.
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Reblogged this on kdwilsonauthorblog.
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Scott, thank you so much for sharing this with us, and for letting us use this site to show that really, no-one knows ‘the best thing to do’ (if there even IS one) in those moments.
If there IS a best thing, though, I think you did it. Bravo. And for writing about it afterwards to raise awareness and spread the word that the repercussions of abuse never really stop.
My dear BTFFFL, you rocked it. Tenderly.
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I doubt there really is a “right thing to do” in a situation such as this. Quite honestly, it’s an incredibly difficult thing to witness. It nearly broke me and my only involvement was watching it break her. I can’t imagine the hell she endured.
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No 😦 I’m just glad you were there for her, in the only way you knew how.
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Yeah…
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Pingback: The One Where I Come Out of Hiding to Tell You Something and Then Go Back Into Hiding | Finding Twindaddy
Scott, I don’t comment here much (or ever) because I don’t feel like I have much to lend to the conversation. Someone earlier already said it but you are a champ knowing this was not at all about her perception of you, but about those terribly long-lasting effects of such an experience. I knew you were good people. Kudos. My heart feels sad for that woman and her daughter and I will add them to my prayers. Can’t hurt.
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Thanks, Lisa.
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I’ve come across one of your posts some months back, when you wrote about this topic, not the same post but yea. You did the best thing you could have at the time.
Unfortunately some scars never quite heal.
Quickly scanning some of the comments above, you see how much this post touched others. (Hugs) thank you for sharing this post here. It is needed.
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Ach.
Tears.
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Unfortunately, I’ve met, since I began blogging, far too many people who have suffered abuse so I know just how pertinent a post such as this is.
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You are a good guy, not that we didn’t know that already. And much better looking than a stormtrooper.
Thank you for sharing. I knew there was something about abuse with you but never knew what it was. You did it just right. xo
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This is heart wrenching, Scott. It’s really important to hear this story from a man’s perspective, too. Just holding and allowing tears is incredibly healing and it takes a strong and secure man to do just that.
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Thank you, Lisa. To be perfectly honest, though, I really didn’t know what else to do.
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I shouldn’t comment on this today…
I’m glad you were there…
I am glad she could cry…
I hate humans sometimes
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You know where to find me, dear. You know I’ve got your back.
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This is unspeakably sad.. I’m like you – lucky enough not to have been hurt like that myself, but at times trusted enough to know someone else’s pain and understand that the aftermath doesn’t end. I think your reaction, and the way you told it, is beautiful.
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Thank you, Sara. It is unspeakable, yet still happens all too often.
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Having come from the same place, I can tell you it was a fear of mine with my husband. I think it is so amazing you realized it wasn’t about presuming you might and taking it personally but that is was her, as a mother, never wanting her daughter to know that darkness. She is lucky to have you, so many wouldn’t understand the place she was coming from! It is so reassuring to know there are tender hearts like yours out there ❤
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Thank you.
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I could feel the tears, the way she released them and you described holding her as she released that pain. Thank you for sharing your experience as a partner, that tender vulnerability, that terror of violation, that fear and also the comfort of safe arms and being held physically and emotionally. This choked me up. It’s so touching.
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You’re welcome. Thank you for reading it.
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Scott, you’re a wonderful, compassionate man. Not because you held her or because you reassured her that her daughter was safe, but because you had the wisdom to know this wasn’t about you, but about her daughter. You felt her pain, and that shows how close you held her that night. She is lucky to have had you in her life, even if momentarily.
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Thank you for your kind words. It’s tough to be asked something like that, but if you could have seen her when she asked, seen the pain behind her eyes, you’d have known too that it was her daughter she had in mind and not I.
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somehow without even having looked before who wrote it…I thought probably you have written it Scott..no idea why..
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I have no idea why either… 😉
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😉
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Holding her was the right thing to do
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What a beautiful way to break the cycle. Holding her was just the right thing to do. Lovely piece, Scott.
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