Falling Apart

While pregnant again for the third time ,I found that taking care of two young children while being pregnant was ....hard to say the least.  I was due in March.  In September we had just finished watching the town parade, my brother had also attended,  he pulled me aside and told me he wanted to talk to me about something. It wasn't every day I got to hang out with my brother so Mark took the other two home and we had some coffee at a coffee shop.  I could tell he wanted to talk to me about something serious , he was nervous. After some small talk, he told me that dad had molested him as well as my other two sisters while growing up.  I could feel myself sink , I was really hoping it had been only me. I felt almost immediate guilt.  I should have said something or done something. I think I was most upset hearing about my brother.  My dad always seemed to favor him, and I guess I thought that him being a good dad to my brother sort of balanced out what he did to me. When I thought of all three of them being molested to some degree I felt sick. After I confirmed with him that it was all four of us that struggled with this , I could feel myself giving in.  This was too big for me now, it was not just me dealing with it anymore. My brother was like a steam engine - relentless, he wanted all of us to confront dad together with what he had done to us. I was afraid , but I didn't fight my steam engine brother.  I figured that I had resisted God long enough and now He was overstepping me , sweeping me along with Him.

We attended at least one counseling session at church to prepare for the confrontation meeting. I don't think any of us were prepared for this ...including the poor pastor.  We hired a baby sitter and headed over to my parents house , my hands were shaking (my hands rarely shake).  I don't think I've ever dreaded a meeting as much as that one. When we arrived at the house, the happy chatter was gone.  No one was doing chores or preparing a meal, it was very quiet and everyone was sitting waiting and uncomfortable. Mark had his hand protectively on my thigh. We all said our piece, mine written down on a piece of paper , because I knew I would not say what needed to be said when it came down to it. My dad looked distressed and my mom ran our of the living room in tears.  I didn't feel angry.  I felt upset that our family bubble had broken and afraid of what would happen in the future.  I had told my dad that I forgave him and I did, a long time ago, before he was repentant.  After the meeting we headed home.  I felt numb and drained.  The pastors had suggested some books to read and advised that we go to counseling and then it was all over. I had a choice to make.  I could continue to pretend and still have a relationship with my dad like before or I could strip it all away and start again letting God heal and change me.  I thought about my kids.  My kids and my husband deserved the best of me, I found the courage to pick up the phone and make an appointment with a therapist from them.  The sessions were expensive, but Mark and I made it work.  After talking about my past during the sessions I felt raw and rarely made it through a session without many tears. After a few months the therapist recommended me to a sexual assault crisis program where the counseling was free. I remember church being difficult then. It was hard to hold back the tears during the services.  God's love pouring over me was like a nurse cleansing an open wound with normal saline - it stung. I hesitated with calling the sexual assault services.

I was resistant to being labeled a victim, or being a statistic, but deep down I knew it was true.  Calling SACC (Sexual Assault Crisis Center) and making an appointment was the first step of many I started to put words and thoughts to what I had experienced instead of pushing it all down and forgetting about it.  It was during this period of time we were blessed with a second daughter.  I was relieved that the pregnancy was over, it was very stressful from the time I heard the full truth of my dad right to the labor and delivery part, it seemed like nothing was going right.  Dealing with three young children was also an added stress.  I remember thinking I was on a marathon, I just had to hold out until the summer (Mark being a teacher gets the summer off).  I often found my self on the floor of the kitchen crying, unable to cope with sleep deprivation, changing hormones, young children and counseling. But , I did manage to muddle through with lots of deep breathing, prayer , Mark , and the counseling helped as well.  Counseling was an added stress because I did not want to talk or think about that part of my past , but it was also a relief letting it out.  The more I learned about how my past affected me the stronger I became as a person. The worst problems are the ones you have but are not aware of.