#MeToo brings changes to #VIGALAND Blog

Hard to believe it's been two years since my last post appeared on this #Vigaland blog. I became busy with writing books, mentoring others who wanted to write their memoirs (see my author's page at Amazon for all my books, including my latest and last on how to write your memoir, titled "Don't Write Your MEmoir without ME!")

After too many hours of staring at screens, I decided it was time for a change and just recently deleted my several websites, including my personal site. But I am keeping this blog for all those who have endured sexual abuse in their lives and careers as I know there are just too many of us. The furor that erupted and opened a can of worms with the Harvey Weinstein affair and all those celebrities coming forward, along with the #MeToo movement, reminded me that this blog was important and needed to be kept alive.

Until now, it had been aimed only at victims of incest, but now #Vigaland is evolving into a much more general site on sexual abuse in all its forms. I sincerely hope you will continue to follow this blog and share the URL with others as I have lots to share with you that was previously only posted on my personal website, now deleted.

Future posts on here will include a series of true stories by others who found the courage to share their #MeToo heartaches with me and which I published and podcast early in 2018. I know you will find these interesting and I am hopeful some of you will leave comments or even share your stories with me on this blog.

I also intend to bring you my reviews of MEMOIRS of ABUSE that I've read & reviewed over the past 5 years. If you like to read books by others who have shared similar experiences to yours, I think you'll want this information.

So, that's where I'm at right now. Stay tuned and keep following. Lots to come over 2018. Thanks for staying with me.

Best

Viga Boland, author of NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER, a true memoir of incest.

#TRUMP'S #ELECTION RE-CONFIRMED ONE INDISPUTABLE FACT

The day after the election, I was in horrible mood. I felt disappointed, defeated, victimized all over again. My husband looked at me and said sadly, "What's done is done. We all just have to get over it." 

There it was again: "just get over it". And I knew he was right. There was nothing I could do. The people had spoken. No matter what, they preferred having a bigoted, narcissistic man lead the US to putting a woman in such a lofty position of power. It didn't matter that Trump obviously enjoyed belittling Hillary during the debates: "What a nasty woman!" It was irrelevant that he sees it as male, and particularly, celebrity entitlement, to joke about grabbing women by their private parts just because he feels like it; or kissing them just because he likes kissing pretty women. That's what men do. It's all part of "go sew your wild oats son!"

My husband was curious about my reaction. At least he cares. He said: "I've never known you to follow politics but you've been glued to this election. Why?" He waited when I didn't reply immediately. Then he said what I hesitated to say: "Trump reminds you of your father, doesn't he?"

Despite myself, despite so many years of being strong, despite writing 3 books based on the child sexual abuse I'd suffered at the hands of my father, despite feeling I was about as healed as I could be, I started crying. But these were tears of anger.

"Yes!" I blurted. "That's what it is! Throughout this entire election, all the debates, I watched a man abuse without apologizing, name call, demean, belittle a woman, and always with that supercilious smirk on his face. It sickened me. It reminded me of everything I've tried to forget for over 55 years!"

"Will you ever get over what your father did to you, honey?" my husband asked.

"I'm beginning to think that's impossible," I replied. "You push it down, away. You get on with your life, get involved in other things. You do everything you can to forget. And then something like this election comes along and reminds you of one indisputable fact: it's still a man's world. Men can lie, abuse, deceive, but if they can convince everyone a woman is guilty of the same, they win. And that is something I will never, ever understand nor accept."

Yes, I was hoping Hillary Clinton would win. A win for her would have been a win for women everywhere, not just abuse victims like me, but all the women struggling to prove they are as capable, as talented and as intelligent as men. Other countries...Great Britain, India...have elected brilliant, competent females to the highest positions in the country, but America gave that job again to a man. I wish him and the people of the US the great America he has promised to them.

Viga Boland is the author of 4 memoirs, 3 of which detail her life as a victim of childhood sexual abuse (incest). All books are available in digital format for all e-readers from her website store. 

Viga Boland is also podcasting her entire Gold-Medal winning book, 'NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER" from her website, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay under the title "Vigaland". You can listen to Chapter 1 at THIS LINK. Subscribe today so you don't miss a single chapter!

WHAT DO #INCEST VICTIMS EXPECT TO READ IN A SEQUEL to a TRUE STORY of #INCEST?

At the request of readers and fans of my book, NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER, I am currently writing a SEQUEL to my true story of incest. In a previous post here, I invited subscribers to this blog to subscribe to that sequel as well. It's FREE, and you can read as I write because, at least for a while,  I'm posting the story chapter by chapter.

But as I work my way through it, I have to ask myself what do my readers want to know? If they are simply interested in knowing how I recovered from 12-13 years of incest at the hands of my biological father, "got over it" as it were and moved on to have a productive life after incest, then I am writing what they want to read. It's a memoir of my married life following my exit from a despicable situation.

But if the person who reaches for this sequel is looking for a book on healing, therapy for their own pain, then my Sequel, as yet un-named, may fail to satisfy their need. You see, for some reason I cannot explain even to myself, once I walked away from my father it was like I erected a wall between me and my past. And once on this side of that wall, I stopped letting the past rule my present.  Where I found that strength, I don't know but perhaps it's rooted in the fact that it took so much strength not to buckle, commit suicide, resort to drugs or booze while I was being abused, that once I was away from it, I had a arsenal of strength to carry me through whatever life might throw my way.  You see, as far as I was concerned, I'd been through the worst already ... and I'd survived.

On top of that, I now had a whole new world to discover, a world that had been denied me. I was naive. I'd never dated. I'd been locked in a prison. But my jailor had let me go,  not easily, and not without trauma and drama, but I was out of there and ready to taste a freedom I'd never known. Perhaps by focussing on the good that was to come instead of forever slipping into the very bad of the past, by thinking of the positives instead of the negatives, therapy and healing came quietly, subtly, and I never really knew it was happening.

Now granted, as I've said many times, I got lucky: I found a really good man and slowly but surely started to trust again. As my trust and love for him grew, and I realized he wasn't going to dictate my every thought and action or restrict me in any way from doing whatever I wanted to, bit by bit my confidence in, and respect for myself flourished. I began to like myself again, even love myself again,  and as Whitney Houston once sang: "Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all", and the most important love if one is to heal from childhood sexual abuse.

Coupled with all that is something else I'm realizing as I write this sequel: while I hated myself for not standing up to my father for all those years, unlike so many victims of incest, I never really blamed myself for what happened. Maybe that's because I was 11 and not 2 or 3 when my father started abusing me. At 11, as horrifying as what he was doing to me was, somehow I knew this wasn't my fault. I never saw myself as the reason for the abuse; I didn't invite him in: he forced himself on me. How was I to blame? I fought him for months but there's only so much mental and physical abuse one can take before you finally give in. It's self-preservation. And somewhere inside the recesses of my mind, I made the logical and intelligent decision that regardless of what anyone might think, what happened was NOT MY FAULT!

I truly believe that realization, and the acceptance of it, is tantamount to recovery. Once we stop blaming ourselves for what happened, once we put the blame squarely on the abuser, we can finally begin to heal. So when my Sequel is ready, if you, as a victim of childhood sexual abuse want to read it in the hope that somewhere in there you will find a means, a pathway or guidelines to your own recovery, you most likely won't find it. Instead, if you are still blaming yourself, asking why me, and waiting for an apology from your abuser or for justice be done in the law courts, my SEQUEL will be of little use or interest to you.

If, on your other hand you want and need to believe that you CAN survive the memories and flashbacks of incest (and you will indeed see me battling them in this sequel) you will get that from this second book.  You will also come away knowing it is possible to learn to trust and love yourself and others again, for, if you survived the actual abuse, you can survive the recovery from it too.  Don't think "can't" or "won't".  You survived the war. You can survive the aftermath too by believing you can  do it.

HALLOWE'EN: NOT MY FAVOURITE NIGHT OF THE YEAR

I'm not the greatest fan of Hallowe'en. Don't know why. I find nothing particularly wonderful about seeing horrible masks, ghouls, freaks, cobwebs on trees and houses and all the other things that scare children ... and adults too for that matter.

Maybe it's because of my past, of living with someone of whom I was so frightened that I was too scared to go to bed at night. I still hear doors opening when everyone was supposed to be asleep. I see the thin shaft of light coming into my room and the dark, looming figure of a man ... my father ... carefully closing the door behind him and feeling his way in the dark over to my bed...

My monster was alive, real. He put on a different mask when friends were around. He was Mr. Friendly, affable, personable. He cared about his wife and child. But he didn't wait for or need Hallowe'en to terrify me. He just did.

Sorry if I don't get into the spirit. Oh I still give out the candies and smile at the sweet little princesses and angels who come to my door shyly saying "Trick or Treat". And I even write poems for them, and in my heart hope that the only monsters and ugly people they ever see in their lives are the other kids running around the streets in costumes on October 31st.

Viga Boland, NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER: a true story of incest
http://www.vigaboland.com

WHY VICTIMS OF #CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE and #INCEST STAY SILENT

In the video above,  meet the writer behind this blog, and the author of a true story of incest,  NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER, Viga Boland.
This morning, one of the members of my private Facebook group, SPEAK OUT FROM UNDER CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE IN FAMILIES, told us:
"I can't stop crying its getting too much for me. Why!"
She sounded distraught. We rushed in to console and support her and probe what was causing the endless tears. She stated something that I think every victim of childhood sexual abuse says, not once, but many, many times: 
"Why, why did it have to be me?  What did I ever do wrong?"
Why did it have to be her? What did she ever do wrong? Why did it have to be YOU, who are reading this, or ME, who is writing it? What did you, or I, or that member ever do wrong to bring unwanted sexual abuse of our bodies? That was like the final question I asked my father in my book, NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER:
"Why? Why couldn't you have just been my dad!"
The thing is, when did I ask him that? I asked him that question in the year, 2000, over thirty years after the abuse had ended and he lay dead on his bed, no longer able to hurt me or my mother or anyone else. Brave, wasn't I! Such a brave person that it still took me until a few years ago to finally tell my husband and children the truth about my past (learn more in the video above). So brave that I got up the  courage to write a book about it all and tell the world about what my father put me through ... over 40 years after it all happened!
You know, that's one hell of a long time to keep a secret that eats at you day and night, that keeps you crying on the inside if not on the outside. WHY? Now I ask WHY? WHY do we keep quiet? Why don't we tell? That member, and almost every other member of my group gives the same reason:
"I am so scared of talking about what happened. I spoke about it 10 years ago however I felt so alone and felt like I'm hurting my family so I stopped talking about it.  For 11 years I have been pretending everything is fine but deep down, I hurt so much!"
We don't talk about it because we're so afraid of hurting our families. So we hurt ourselves instead, not just for a day or a month but for years and years. We protect the family, their sensitivities, their honour, their reputation. And then friends and family all look at us and wonder why we cry a lot, are distant, maybe even bitchy, or act up or act out, or become hopeless alcoholics, or addicted to drugs or prescription pills ... need I go on? Mothers brush it off and laughingly tell their friends, "Aw, it's just that time of month" or "she's just a bit crazy sometimes".  They wouldn't dare tell their friends "her father has sex with her instead of with me!" Now, how would that look? So, childhood victims of sexual abuse bottle it up, keep quiet, protect the family, suffer in silence and everyone's happy, right? WRONG! So damn wrong! 
I went out on a limb recently when 2 sisters were fined $125, 000 for defamation of character. They had alleged their uncle had sexually abused them at 4 - 6 years of age. Their story couldn't be proved but the judge felt he had proof they had set out to deliberately malign the uncle's reputation. I was quoted in a news article by CBC Hamilton saying I felt the ruling in this case would deter victims of sexual abuse from telling their stories. I was also shocked by the judge's statement that, had this been a case of child sexual abuse, and had it been awarded in favour of victims of abuse, they would have each been granted $35, 000. It was incomprehensible to me that child sex abuse was deemed so much less important than defamation of character. I wasn't questioning the outcome of the case! I didn't even know it wasn't a child sex abuse case but a defamation case.  I was just disturbed that child sexual abuse is still, simply, not a big deal. Tell that to the thousands of abuse victims out there who, like that member above, can't stop crying, who won't tell so she can protect her family or hushes everything up simply because, as I was, she or he is scared ... scared of the abuser, maybe even scared for her or his life.
Many comments have been left on that CBC article. Most of them shoot me down. Most of them are by men who intimate they wouldn't want their reputations sullied by some hysterical female alleging abuse, allegations which are most likely, false in their considered and informed opinions. You can read what they had to say on that CBC site.  Then there's the guy on DIGITAL JOURNAL (where I'd written an article about this case, prior to the CBC article) who made this comment on my article:
"I have now read the full judgment in this case, and wondered if anyone else who has read this article has, including the author, who has clearly used it as a shameless plug for her book which contains allegations of a sexual nature against her father. She makes no mention here of his being convicted of any offence, presumably she would have had this been the case, so would I be right in assuming he is now dead and can't defend himself?"
How very astute of him. Yes, I had seized an opportunity to inform people about my book which I feel is an important book for victims and non-victims and I'd love to see millions of people read it.  But to then question the veracity of what I have disclosed, with such complete honesty in my book, NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER as he has done, well that's like kicking a dog after it finally got back up on its feet. Thanks for nothing pal! You just re-affirmed why for years, we keep
"pretending everything is fine but deep down"  we "hurt so much!"

HOW CAN A FATHER SEXUALLY ABUSE HIS OWN DAUGHTER?

Currently, I'm reading two books, My Justice by Patricia A. McKnight and Mummy Knew, by Lisa James. Just as Tricia warned me, her book is hard to read. So is Lisa's. It is impossible to read books on incest abuse by a parent when one has themselves been sexually abused by a parent. With each word these brave women write, revealing intimate details of their own abuse, memories spring to mind. Visions pushed so far back and so far under over the years that you wonder if maybe you had just imagined them all, spring to life and affirm that yes, daddy really did abuse his little girl. The similarities between their stories and your own are jarring. You find yourself saying "Yes, that's how he got to me too!" "That's how he got me to keep quiet!" "That's how dirty I felt!" "That's how frightened I was!" 

And yet, both Patricia's and Lisa's story have one big difference from mine: in both their cases, the writer's mother had married low-life, foul-mouthed abusers whose brutality and abuse was exacerbated by their drinking. These creeps were their step-fathers, not a birth father, as was my case. I suppose it's easier to understand (if any incest can be understood) why a non-birth father who is essentially a pedophile to start with, could be drawn to a child, who is, after all, not his own, especially when she conveniently lives in the same house and must obey him as her new parent. What a huge advantage he has over her! It's interesting that both Patricia and Lisa felt some kind of instant revulsion and mistrust of these men when they were introduced into their lives by their mothers. They say puppies and dogs can sense evil in a human. These children did too but they were powerless to do anything about it.

My case, however, is different. With my mother, my father created me. His DNA runs through my blood. His advantage over me was huge but never would I have thought my birth father, someone I trusted with my life, whose job it was from word go to protect me from any harm, would take that kind of advantage of me. I didn't sense evil in him despite the harsh punishments he meted out for infractions when I was a child. I just figured they were deserved. So great is the belief and trust we have in our birth parents.

I watched a woman pushing her 3-4 month old in a pram today. The little one's eyes were glued, as best she could focus, on her mother's face. She gurgled and smiled as her mother talked to her. The baby's face glowed with delight and love. No doubt, or let's hope so, she has that same glowing love in her little eyes when she sees her daddy. And all being well, as time goes on, the other thing in her eyes will be trust, complete trust, trust he will never misuse.

I was looking at some photos of myself as a 6-month old baby a week back. There I sit happily on daddy's knee. Mommy is by his side. He looks proud and protective as he holds me. Where did that daddy go? Now as I sift through photos taken during my adolescence and even into my 20's, I see a different man there, a man who was my father by birth only. Though I long ago came to grips with what happened in my life and have been happily blessed with a fine husband and 2 beautiful daughters since,  I still cannot understand how the person who gave you life can destroy his own child's trust for his own selfish needs. To me, this is beyond comprehension and always will be.

Why ever did you make me, your child, the object of your lust?

How could you take your own child's heart and fill it with mistrust?

With every thrust inside my body, you double thrust my soul

Stripping me of my self-esteem and leaving me less than whole

I was your own flesh and blood;  you were half my life

How is it that you blurred the lines and turned me into your wife?

Wasn't mother good enough? Couldn't you find another?

No, instead you had to choose your child and destroy both me and mother.

And when I finally got away like a lamb who had been slaughtered

You piled the guilt upon my shame and said I was no daughter 

Well what on earth did you expect when you stopped being dad?

When you died, my only tears were for the father I never had.

© Viga Boland 2012

TAKING ON TOO MUCH? BURNING OUT? WHY?

I'm bracing myself for tomorrow. Tomorrow, my free time comes to a halt as the children return to school and I resume daily, and every 2 weeks, nightly care of my grand-daughter. From tomorrow on, it's get her to school at 8:30am, pick her up at 2:45 pm, give her that afternoon snack, stay on her  to get her to do her homework before taking her back to her mom's at 6pm. And there goes the day.

For me, that means all the additional projects I took on over the summer i.e. writing my book, "Coming Out from Under", this blog (and several others!), my Facebook group at OUT FROM UNDER, and my online jewelry business/hobby are going to be limited to a 51/2 hour block of time daily ... and that's between trying to get in a workout swim 3 times a week, a daily workout walk, preparing meals ... not to mention time for simply resting. What is it with me? Why do I take on so much?

I've always been like this. I truly don't know how not to keep busy. It's almost like I'm afraid to have time on my hands. Why? I've come to realize that it's coupled with my need to feel wanted, my never-ending need for approval.  So many years of trying to please a man who wanted so much more than he had the right to ask, so many years of hoping what I was doing was enough has left me permanently trying to please everybody everywhere. It's a hard road to walk. It's tiring, draining. But ironically, it's also fulfilling when you know someone is benefitting from the help you are giving.

One of my fellow-survivors complained of the same thing this morning on Facebook. She is burning herself out, taking on way too much. I can sense she's angry with herself for doing it, but like me, she has that deep-seated need for acceptance and approval. And when that acceptance or approval comes, oh how good we feel. How we glow! Someone loves us. Someone thinks we're great. Daddy approves. Daddy isn't angry with us. Daddy might not hurt me this time because I was his good little girl ...

I've met others like me. They work round the clock, attend every function going on to show their support of other's endeavours even when they're exhausted, always putting others before themselves. This is what abuse has taught them to do. It's how they've survived. It's how they feel good about themselves.

And so we go on, addicted to being busy, addicted to taking on too much because we fear the times in between being busy, when we're not feeling useful or good for something or somebody. Like I said, it's a tough road to walk and it's exhausting. But somehow, it also fills a huge hole inside us.

I really envy another lady who recently mentioned to me how she copes with being abused. Unlike me trying to please everyone, she doesn't give a damn. She won't let anyone walk over her, tell her what to do or where to go. She's feisty. She also never stops being busy, taking on too much.

What about you, dear reader? Is there a pattern here? Are you like this too ... always putting your fingers in too many pies just to feel appreciated, wanted, loved? Or have you even ever analyzed, as I am doing here, why you are this way? I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this.

It's labour day. Today we are supposed to rest from our labours. Are you resting or are you, like me, trying to get everything done before tomorrow ... and the next tomorrow... and the next tomorrow...

YOUNG MALE VICTIMS OF SEXUAL ABUSE SUFFER TOO ... AND HOW!

Yesterday marked a milestone for me. It was simultaneously disturbing but very fulfilling. As a result of my previous day's blog post at http://vigaland.blogspot.ca/2012/08/incest-that-could-never-happen-in-my.html , I was contacted by not one, but two men who were sexually abused as youngsters. This brings to 3 the number of men who have shared their story of abuse with me. I feel so honored to have their trust and support for what I am trying to do. Thank you gentlemen. You know who you are.

One of these men was incredibly brave. He wrote his story on my personal Facebook page in full detail. I cried as I read it. His sordid tale came straight from his heart. What had I unleashed? But it was good. He is now one of the members of my FACEBOOK community group, OUT FROM UNDER, and has kindly given me permission to copy/paste his story here. I have copied and pasted it just as he wrote it, full of emotion and heartache. I can sense his desperate need to be heard, to tell others what happened to him and his relatives too. It may be a little hard to follow, but you will get the gist of it ... and it's not pretty. But it is all real.

This gentleman is the first of the members of either sex of OUT FROM UNDER at FACEBOOK  to speak publicly. I applaud his courage and thank him so much for sharing his story. Here's what David wrote:

 "Viga,,please as I share,,forgive me,,thanks,where I was sent,,as a child,,it was later called " The Doherty Farm of Horrors,,"outside of Portage la Prairie Manitoba,,he was I guess a step father,,he never adopted me,,thank God,,he abused all of us,,me,,his daughters,,and 4 boys,,he beat mother,,into I guess getting his way,,she closed her eyes as he did it to us,,we did sex acts for him,,yes even us boys,,ok,,in the mouth,,etc,,he made older girl pregnant,she ,had daughter of incest,,Helen,,he did sex abuse,,he did beatings,,verbally he was bad,,for example as I was not his kid,,his name for me,,was,,The BASTARD,,ok,,,he did emmotional abuse,,to all,,mentally he had us,,we were wrecks,,his like puppets,,,,,,Viga,,later when many of us went to Child family Services for help,,we were told we made it up,,as some of us left,,I ran away 29 times,,what I and other kids told he did,,we were told kids should listen to the parents,,and not lie,,make stuff up,,in 1995 Aug there was a murder on that farm,,I testified against the bad man,,Earl Doherty.and Earls son,,Clarence Doherty,,a 8 year old boy was hiton head and killed on that farm,,.can you believe it ,,he got off,,,anyways,,many of us,,esp me,,charged him,Earl Doherty,,,RCMP said he was too old,,only get house arrest,,so no justice,,I am post traumatic stress dis orders leading to severe bouts of anxiety and depressions,,I am called,,Multiple personality dis orders,,I am called also by Doctors,,Bi polar,I am dis assocaiative,,??,,I drank,,drugged to forget all my life,,I gave up booze,,Drugs Jan 10 ,1996,after I cut my both arms to the bone,,close to the elbows,,deeps,,and I stabbed my leg,,I was sick an tired of the flash backs,,memmories,,and booze ,,drugs were no longer killing it in my head,,I was sick an tired,,wanted it to end,,as the murder had just happened,,more talk,,more publicity,,so,,,,Viga,,I read really fast,,I have many children in me,,little ones,,ok,,,I love your post,,I loved the videio that girl spoke on and did,,folks want to write about me,,I get scared,,the devil,,bad man,,Earl Doherty died,,my so called mother died,,we,,the brothers,,if thats what you call us,,Clarence,,charged with murder,aug,,1995,Gary,,on skid ,gary is lost,,hopeless,,i find him once a yr,,in Vancouver,,,alvin,,a loner,,divorced,,Brian,,he is totaly goofed up,,he did time in juvenile place,,one girl,,Faye,,went to a woman,,fell in love,,got married,Faye and I visit,,we do not much talk about it,,,Daughter of incest Helen,,hiding out sort of on a rez in Manitoba,,we all rarely communicate,,scared,,embarrased I guess,,???We,,yes all of us divorced ,,some a couple of times,,where was God,,where was my Mohter,,why did no one help us,,no one cared,,every one took us back there,,I am alright,,today,,got lots,,lots of help,,head shrinks,,doctors,,counsellors,,many peoples helped me,,mentally,,but,,,some times it just grabs me,,a living hell,,even today,,Thanks for listening,,I send you a jentle respectful hug,,Viga,,just because I am supposed to" 

 After reading David's story, I did some research on male victims of sexual abuse and found THIS ARTICLE  which I have added to my information site at VIGALAND. It is so in line with some of what David has shared above. Do have a read, and while you're over at VIGALAND'S INFORMATION ARTICLE SITE, check out some of the other articles I've posted there. All worthwhile reading for anyone interested in or affected by abuse of any kind.

Have a great weekend everyone. May the sun shine in on your day and chase the heartaches away ...

GOD, IF THERE IS ONE, HELPS THOSE WHO HELP THEMSELVES

At least, that's the conclusion I came to when I was about 12 and my father began shattering my world as I believed it should be. Until then, despite the fact that he had been physically abusive since the first time he slapped my thumb out of my mouth because the sucking noise woke him up, I hadn't yet grasped that fathers can do far worse things than that to their daughters. Until then, I was a good Catholic girl who went to Mass almost every morning, thought receiving communion meant I was being filled with and protected by God's grace, went to Church every Sunday, sang out the Latin hymns with full voice, helped the nuns at school, and hung on every word our priest spoke in his sermons (though I must confess sometimes it was hard to stay awake!) My parents never stopped me from attending but they never accompanied me either. That was something I didn't quite understand but then, most kids don't get their parents, do they.

Now what I'm about to say is most likely going to ruffle thousands of believers and Christians (if I can be so vain as to believe that many might one day read this). But a very dear friend who is also writing a book on her own abuse, finds it very hard to understand why I don't believe in God and have no use for religion. For her, it is her salvation, her way of coping with the horror and heartache of her life and she prays and praises Jesus daily. I respect her belief. She has many who share it. But I'm not one of them. Nor do I believe that all that is, and was bad in my life is the work of the devil. For me, he (she?) doesn't exist either.

Both of them, God and the devil, vanished from my 12-year-old psyche when my Father began sexually abusing me. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. I prayed night after night that he would stop. I beat myself over the head, telling myself that God must be really mad at me and this was punishment for my sins. And I prayed some more, begging for divine intervention. As for that devil, when I looked at my father's angry face as he belted me or heard his voice spewing venemous words at me, calling me filthy names just because I was resisting or opposing him, I knew I was looking at the devil. He wasn't some fiery fiend with a fork burning away in some place called hell. He was a human being taking advantage of an innocent and helpless child, his own flesh and blood, in his own home.

And as the months slipped by and turned into years of mental, physical, spiritual and sexual abuse, all thoughts or belief in a god who would save me from the hell I was living in faded away. The prayers were falling on deaf ears. I didn't even believe the words I was saying in those prayers. I was praying to someone or something I didn't know, had never seen or met and as long as whoever he/she was kept allowing my prayers to go unanswered and the abuse to continue, how could I believe? After all, despite the shame and guilt I felt, I knew that under all that, I had done nothing to deserve this. NOTHING! What "sins" had I committed? And for that matter, why did I have to "atone for the sins of the world"? The worst thing I'd done by the age of 11 was wet the bed till I was 7 (wonder why?) or lose my temper when I didn't get my way at school. For those transgressions, I deserved THIS?! If Christ's figure on the crucifix brought me to tears, they were for myself, not him. Perhaps his figure was meant to symbolize me and all others subjected to undeserved suffering. As such, it served its purpose but it was nothing more than that to me. I concluded that no amount of praying, no amount of crying would help. The only help I could get had to begin with me.

Phew! That wasn't easy to write. I can just hear the outrage some of you who believe are feeling and I apologize if this offends you but I don't apologize for being honest about how I feel. So many of us cannot be honest, are afraid to say what they really think. No wonder there's so much misunderstanding, even between those who love each other. Because I love the friend I mentioned above, I'm being honest with her and the many others who suggest to victims of abuse that they pray etc. This blog post has also been prompted more by a post I read on a Facebook community page where someone asked "What do you say to someone who doesn't believe in God about how to handle their pain and shame?" The poster requested that those who reply not tell her to pray. That was of no use to her etc etc. How well I understood her feelings. But what advice could I give her instead? The only advice I can give is what this blog and my FACEBOOK COMMUNITY PAGE is all about i.e. come out from under. Share your pain with those who do care and want to help. There are as many of us as there are those who believe prayer is the answer. Talking about it helps. You may not be able to say it all at once. It's overwhelming. Do it in small steps. Take it easy. Be easy on yourself. Bit by bit, let  your story unfold. And you do start to feel better very soon if you have a willing listener. I saw that happening first-hand with another very dear friend this past weekend as this friend opened up to me. Despite how difficult it was, the joy at doing so was very obvious.

For others, full therapy may be the answer. One of my fellow survivors posted an excellent note on my community page about this recently. She has given me permission to share it with you here. I support her advice. If this is what you need, and prayer or a willing listener, or lots of reading and encouraging sayings aren't doing it for you, then take her advice which I've pasted below. Thanks S.E. for sharing it with my readers.

And let me finish this by re-phrasing my opening headline. For those who do believe in God, believe also that "God helps those who helps themselves". Healing begins with YOU.

ADVICE FROM A FELLOW SURVIVOR:

For all those who are still struggling to overcome your abusive past: I just want to say how important it is to reach out to your family doctor or mental health professional and speak to a qualified practitioner. There are many programs available to help you through this. Group therapies for incest survivors are particularly helpful. You will learn that, although it can be cathartic to share details about your past, it's not what happened to you, but rather how it made you feel that should be the topic of conversation. To pour over details and factual stories alone, will not help you heal. Time does not heal. It's what you do with that time to recollect, recover and reclaim your whole self. While posting inspirational messages and sharing thoughts and information is certainly a progressive step, it cannot take the place of professional therapy. Healing from such an extremely damaging abuse is a long process. It is not easy and you can expect feelings to get much more intense before it gets better. But, I promise you, things will get better and before you know it, you will no longer be haunted every day by those horrific memories and flashbacks. It will no longer monopolize your thoughts in everyday activities. There are very strong emotions that need to be set free; shame, guilt, anger, confusion, unworthiness are just a few that will chain you with insecurities. Take back your power. Put down your load. You CAN reclaim yourself and recover your life.