On another blog, someone asked poignantly how long my voice had been held captive. This was my reply:
Robert, it was in college that I somehow got up the nerve to send up a desperate cry for help to a therapist I was seeing at the insistence of a concerned friend. Rather than asking questions, or seeking better understanding, my therapist seized on one of the things I’d stammered, and made a blaming statement. I walked out and never returned. I remained silent for about 30 years, telling myself that the long ago sexual abuse was “no big deal”, just “that weird thing we did”, and that it had no impact on the rest of my life. That’s if I thought of it at all.
After college, I was raped by two neighbors. My initial intent was to tell no one but my doctor; however, that didn’t work out. I wasn’t completely silenced, but close to it. Very few people knew, and I dealt with the aftermath of my ordeal pretty much on my own.
Time does not heal wounds. Most of the time, I thought I was OK. The thing is that I had no frame of reference for “OK”. Five years ago, the whole house of cards came crashing down. This time there was no more propping things back up and pretending all was well.
I didn’t “find my voice”. Desperation and anguish drove it out of me in agonizing shrieks of pain, wracking sobs, and frightened whispers. It has been a difficult road out of captivity, but so much worth it.
May God bless you with freedom and joy.
May God grant us all the powerful, unrestrained voices He always intended us to have.