The Price of an Orgasm

I’ve been silent for too long, uncomfortable and reluctant to deal with my anger.  The article in the Huffington Post a few weeks ago about the experience of a sexual assault survivor, the response she heard from a college administrator, “I thought it was reasonable for him to penetrate you for a few more minutes if he was going to finish.”  The comment from Brock Turner’s father, prison would be “a steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action.” The growing number of rape cases where the interests of the perpetrator are more important than justice for the victim/survivor. The sexual assault confession of DT and the growing number of reports from women and men about their/our experiences of sexual abuse and sexual assault.

I have come a very long way in the healing process. The anger at my father’s molestation (from around 12-18 months until I left for college) and my mother’s failure to protect me and denial that anything happened, has less and less power to limit my activities and my freedom. Yet I still struggle, and probably always will, to move beyond my identity as a clergy incest survivor.  I still live with PTSD and its effects on my energy, my ability to work, my ability to take care of myself.  And it’s clear from my reactions lately that I still have a lot of anger in me, about the ways so many men believe their sexual needs trump (pun intended) the needs of the women they violate. About the ways judges and administrators consider the future of young rapists more important than care for those of us who live with the forever effects of being violated. About the huge number of men who think sexual assault can be dismissed as “locker room talk,” machismo (by a “clergyman”—Pat Robertson, no less). About the pain so many of us feel because our experience is denied or perpetrators excused and our pain and anger are belittled.

I have come a very long way in the healing process.  I have worked extremely hard in therapy and “doing the inner work” to find healing and most days I am able to live well and enjoy life. I’m at a place in my life where I no longer need to focus so much energy on healing—but I’m realizing that my desire to write (since I was in high school) requires the energy of my anger: the content of what I have to write has to include using what I have learned as a way to collaborate with God in the world’s healing.  I need to join my voice to those who are increasingly outraged by the indifference and injustice and acceptance of violence against women as “normal.” That is one form my writing will take.  There are other forms—stay tuned!

I also need to share with other survivors who need to know that the work of healing is worth all the effort. I need to share with those who work with survivors what has helped (or hindered) my healing experience.  But most of all, I need to share how my relationship with God has sustained me throughout the process.  Yes, I was angry at God at one point for “allowing the abuses to happen,” and I needed to go through that anger in order to come to understand that God never “allows” evil—but that we are all free to choose to do evil. And the power to refrain from doing evil, to choose to be a force for healing in cooperation with God, has its roots in God’s love, without which we would cease to exist. 

God’s love, the love of those who have supported me along the way, the love for myself which has slowly grown over the many years of letting in God’s love, has been tremendously freeing of the pain that was the result of the abuses. I am who I am not because of what my parents did, but because of what God has done to heal my pain.