Watch RWISA Write Blog Tour – Stephanie Collins – #RWISA #RRBC

Rave Reviews Book Club. One of the objectives of the club is to recognize outstanding talent in its membership. A literary group has been established within RRBC named Rave Writers – International Society of Authors (RWISA). This month the club is featuring these authors on tour. I will be hosting them throughout the month, and I hope you enjoy being introduced to some excellent writing.

RWISA

Stephanie Collins

Stephanie Collins

Guilt, Shame & Fear

By Stephanie Collins

 

“I can’t stand the feeling of being out of control, so I’ve never had any interest in trying drugs or alcohol,” I mused.

“You sure seemed to have an interest when you were younger,” Dad informed me. He responded to my perplexed look before I had a chance to deny his claim. “What? You don’t remember trying pot? Let’s see. It was about 1975. That would have made you five, right? I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a summer afternoon. I walked into the living room and found you with a bong in one hand and a beer in the other. You just looked up at me, glassy-eyed, with a smile on your face and said, ‘Hi, Dad.’ You don’t remember that?”

“Uh…no!”

“Ha! Do you remember the massive headache you had the next day? You hated life that day! I told you not ever to do it again…and you never did,” he reminisced in a tone laced with humor and pride.

It was after that conversation when I really began to question my apparent lack of childhood memories. I have next to no memory of life before the divorce of my parents (when I was eight) and precious few afterward.

My parental split also marks the onset of memories of the “secret playtime” I shared with Dad. I remember realizing that what was happening to me was wrong (to a certain extent, anyway), but Dad really missed Mom. I felt proud to be there for him in his time of grief and loneliness. I had many roles as the oldest daughter. I got my toddler sister to bed on time, scolded her when I found her drinking a beer (that one I do have a vague memory of), and I cleaned the house. Those “more intimate interactions” with Dad were just another in my list of responsibilities as I saw it.

But if Dad remembered the timeline correctly, Mom and Dad were still together when I was five. Where was Mom when her Kindergartener daughter was experimenting with drugs? Could this mean I should add neglect as a descriptor of my “chaotic” upbringing? Could it mean the molestation began earlier than I have any memory of? Does it even matter at this point?

For a time, I was skeptical if someone told me she/he didn’t have sexual abuse in their background. It seemed it was everywhere. I ran a support group in a junior high school when getting my psychology degree. It was for eighth-grade girls, and the only qualifier for an invitation to the group was poor school attendance. After a few weeks of meetings, I opened a session with – innocently enough – “So, how was everyone’s weekend?” One girl immediately began to cry. She explained she had confronted her parents over the weekend with the news that her brother had sexually abused her for years. She had come forward out of fear for the niece her brother’s girlfriend had just given birth to. That student’s admission led to the revelation that six of the seven of us in our circle that day had a history of sexual abuse.

My best friend in college was gang-raped in high school. My college boyfriend was [brutally] raped by a neighbor as a child. Maybe the most disturbing situation I heard about was when I was a senior in high school. I had befriended a freshman. She came to me one day, inconsolable. She was petrified, as she was positive she was pregnant. I tried to calm her with reassuring words, then asked, “Have you told [your boyfriend] yet?” She burst into a fresh bout of tears. When she was finally able to speak again, she confessed in an agonized whisper, “I can’t! It’s not his. It’s…it’s my uncle’s, or my father’s.”

I don’t know how I thought sexual abuse was rampant all around me but had somehow left the rest of my family untouched. Soon after my first daughter was born, I learned that Dad had attempted to molest my younger sister when I was about 12 (my sister would have been 7 or 8 then). As it turns out, I disrupted the attempt when I went to inform them I had just finished making breakfast. I learned of that incident because our [even younger] step sister had just pressed charges against Dad for her sexual abuse from years earlier. He served four years.

Incidentally, that family drama enlightened me to the fact that my grandmother had been abused by a neighbor. My aunt had been abused by her uncle. I wonder if Dad had been sexually abused, too (in addition to the daily, brutal physical abuse I know he suffered at the hands of my grandfather).

As with most survivors of abuse from a family member, I am full of ambiguity and conflict. I am glad Dad was educated to the error of his ways. I’m satisfied he paid for his crimes. I’m relieved the truth came out. I hate that the truth came out. I mourn for the shell of a man who returned from prison. I weep for a family that was blown apart by the scandal. I am heartbroken for my grandmother, who was devastated by the whole ordeal. I am thankful I live 3000 miles away from my family, so I don’t have to face the daily small-town shame they all do, now that Dad is a registered sex offender. I am proud of my step sister for speaking up. I am woefully ashamed for not having the courage to do it myself, which possibly would have prevented the abuse of others after me. I love my father. I am thankful for the [many] great things he has done for me over the years. I hate the effect his molestation had on me, including the role it likely played in my high school rape by another student, and my first [abusive, dysfunctional] marriage.

As I’ve clearly demonstrated, my story is far from unique. Heck, it’s not even remotely severe or traumatic when compared to what others have survived. Still, here I am – 40 years after my first memories of molestation – and I’m still suffering the consequences. Along with my disgrace for allowing others to be abused after me, I carry incredible shame for my involvement in the acts (regardless of the decades of therapy that advise me I had no real power or choice in the matter). I carry unbelievable guilt for the strain my history places on my relationship with my husband. He’s an amazing, wonderful, loving man, who deserves nothing less than a robust, vigorous, fulfilling sex life, but gets – to the best of my ability – a [hopefully] somewhat satisfying one. I carry secret embarrassment over the only real sexual fantasy I have – that of reliving my rape and [this time] taking great pleasure in castrating the bastard in the slowest, most brutally savage way imaginable.

Heaviest of all, I carry fear. There’s nothing I can do to change my past. All I can do is work toward preventing the continued cycle of abuse. I may have a warped view of personal boundaries, I may struggle with my sexuality, and I may be somewhat unfamiliar with healthy family dynamics, but I can do all in my power to ensure my kids fare far better than me. I fear failure.

My eldest daughter has mild to moderate developmental delay. While statistics for sexual abuse in the general population is scary enough, the likelihood of abuse when a cognitive disability is involved is all but a certainty. My second daughter is non-verbal, non-ambulatory, and severely mentally delayed. She’s a prime candidate for abuse. What if my efforts to protect them fall short?

My [teenaged] son and my youngest [“tween”] daughter both have ADHD. Impulse control is a constant struggle for them both. What if the education, counseling, advice, and coaching I offer them about healthy relationships, sexuality, safety and personal responsibility aren’t enough?

I try to counteract these lingering after effects of abuse by remaining ever thankful for the love, good fortune, and beautiful life I share with my husband and children today, but my guilt, shame, and fear cling to me with tenacious persistence.

I am just finishing “It Begins And Ends With Family” by Jo Ann Wentzel. I highly recommend the read. The subject is foster care, but no conversation about foster children is complete without a discussion of child abuse and neglect. While we can debate the best course of action in helping abused children, the top priority must be to work toward a goal of prevention; to break the cycle of abuse. I am hopeful that – as a society – we can work together to empathize, educate, support, counsel, and care enough to stop the cycle of all abuse. If sharing my truth will help toward that goal, well…Here I am. This is my truth.

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Stephanie Collins RWISA Author Page

35 comments

  1. I appreciate you sharing your truth with us, Stephanie. Thanks for hosting, John.

    1. Thank you, Jill! Take care, and have a wonderful weekend! 🙂

    2. Thanks for the visit, Jill.

  2. karenringalls · ·

    A heart-wrenching story about a truth our society chooses too often to ignore. Thank you for sharing, Stephanie. John, your hosting is appreciated.

    1. Thank you, Karen! Take care and have a spectacular Saturday! 🙂

    2. Thanks for the visit, Karen

    1. Thank you for reblogging, Charles! 🙂

      1. Thanks from me too.

      2. You’re welcome. Watching the news, so I hope you guys are okay.

      3. Yes. We are fine. No news about our house though.

      4. I was looking for video from Port Aransas. They keep mentioning it, so I hope everything is okay.

      5. It was so bad they couldn’t get in there. The ferries are not running and the only road is blocked with debris.

      6. I found some pics on twitter. Positive thoughts and prayers for you guys.

      7. Thanks, Charles.

    2. Thank you for the reblog, Charles.

  3. Thank you very much for hosting, John! Take care and have a wonderful weekend! 🙂

    1. Thank you, Stephanie. You as well.

  4. Stephanie bravely exposed a subject that most want to keep hidden in the closet. Kudos to her for taking the stand. Thanks for hosting, John. Thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.

    1. Thank you very much, Jan! And from the comments it would appear John lives in the area affected by the current storm, so my thoughts are with you, John, hoping your home is spared any damage!

      1. Thank you, Stephanie. We don’t know anything yet.

    2. Thank you, Jan. I agree on Stephanie’s bravery.

  5. Stephanie, as an abused child also by family members as most are, I can relate to your well written article. I am stunned even today by the number of abused children and teens there are and even knowing what to watch out for, many of my loved ones were abused almost under my nose.
    What people can’t understand and don’t get is that it never ever goes away. You can think you’ve let it go, that it isn’t who we are now–and it isn’t, but the sub-conscious mind keeps it tucked away for no good reason I can comprehend. I have your book half read but it was slow going because it affected me so emotionally-nonetheless a great book and while i am on a break from reviews for a while, I will catch up soon. Thanks for all your support.

    1. Thank you so much, Micki, for taking the time to read my post, and for sharing your thoughts. You’re right; there’s no escaping the everlasting dark, slimy after-effects of abuse. And no matter how “well-versed” we are on the prevalence of the problem, it can still jump up and surprise us where we least expect to find evidence of it. Hopefully with more dialogue about the issue, we can start getting serious about breaking the cycle of abuse. Thank you for your interest in my book. No worries on taking your time with it; reading should only be done at whatever pace is comfortable and enjoyable. Thanks again for sharing, take care, and enjoy the rest of your weekend! 🙂

  6. Hello John and Stephanie! The story is very affecting. It must have taken a great deal of courage to write something so honest and raw. Thanks for sharing with us, Stephanie. And thanks for hosting, John.

  7. Bravo, Stephanie, and hugs.

    1. Thank you so much for the reblog, Don

      1. No problem. How did you make out through the hurricane, John? Looks like your area was hit pretty hard.

      2. Cat 4 through our front yard. How bad could it be?

      3. I used to work in emergency management in Florida. Pretty bad, unfortunately.

    1. Thank you , Traci.

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