**Trigger Warning: Surviving Sexual Abuse and Assault**
I lay outside and thought about punching him. Considered the rings I was wearing, his height, if he’d be okay. Would he scar? End up at the hospital? What if he had a heart attack and died? I’d rather not end up in jail. And what if they turned on my friend? That’s the opposite of what I really want. What I want is for him to get any sort of punishment.
I’ve been here before. Counting this time, it’s two weddings and a Christmas. If you want to get an inside scoop on how the patterns of sexual abuse are often perpetrated by those closest to a person, just be that friend who tags along to a lot of family functions. You’ll begin to recognize it.
It’s not that I don’t already know the stories. It’s sadly common at this point. But as my friends do their makeup, and button their jackets, I mull with them over the usual worries: “Does my hair look good?” “Are we going to be late?” but also, “How is it going to go this time?”
Because they aren’t just about to face their families and loved ones. They’re about to face their abusers. Maybe it’s a cousin, or uncle, or sibling. Whoever it is. That person is going to smile, and look them in the eye. Maybe the abuser just got a new job, or is the guest of honor. Tonight, he attended the wedding with his newly pregnant wife, and they were seated at the table with us. People kept coming up and congratulating them, doting over the wife. The wife doesn’t know anything about the alleged molesting of his little sister, or would dismiss it as slander.
At the Christmas party a few years ago, the abuser’s partner did know. She got as drunk as her tiny frame would allow and pulled my partner and me into a room. She looked us and said, “I wouldn’t have married him if I’d known. He kept it a secret from me. I’m sorry.” I suggested divorce. She didn’t answer for a second. “I can’t, I love him. And I know I’m strange, but I think I mate for life. I made a commitment.”
That’s the most empathy the survivors ever get at family events. Hushed drunken validation but ultimately a “What can I do?”
And it’s not because the guests don’t know the deal. Generally the abuse isn’t common knowledge, but at least a handful of people have heard the story. My friends’ parents, select close relatives or friends, the abusers themselves. That’s not, for the record, to suggest that they have accepted it. Best-case scenario, they’ve suggested (or even paid for) therapy, hoping “it” would go away. Worst-case scenario, they denied the possibility.
On our way to the wedding yesterday, my friend recounted having a full fledged panic attack, and her mother telling to stop being so dramatic because she “could never have raised a child who would do that to you.”
What do you do when you realize your own flesh and blood has deeply wronged your other flesh and blood? Is it a parent’s greatest nightmare to pick between children?
And that’s the core of it, isn’t it? They don’t want to believe, can’t, and plainly—won’t. Let’s be honest for a moment: how would everyone react if the abuser had thrown acid on my friend instead of an act that can be washed away by a game of “he said–she said”? Would they claim the abuser tripped just to preserve the family’s honor? Would they demand the abuser go to therapy and apologize? Would they invite the abuser to family functions as though they’ve done nothing all that wrong? I can’t be sure, though surely, they wouldn’t be so callous as to sit the abuser at the same table with the survivor.
I’m not saying that all survivors of sexual abuse are damaged forever. Just that so much is invisible, and that which is invisible is easily ignored. In each of these situations, I’m privy enough to see that my friends are not okay. And they’re trying to figure out how to make it okay.
It doesn’t feel as though the survivors have a lot of options. They can cut out the family, or refuse to attend functions where the abuser is present, which makes them seem rude and ungrateful. They can continue to push for people to believe them, but then they’re just “raining on the parade.” It’s lose-lose, and every time, the burden of action rests on the person who is suffering the most. Often they opt to invite people like me to these events. A buffer, a source of validation, someone to squeeze your hand when your clueless aunt comments that “you and brother sure have a hard time getting along” or stand in between when the photographer tries to get you to get in a shot with your abuser.
But even I, after a few hours of watching those I care for getting such a raw deal, have to step away. I have to resist the urge to grab the abusers by the collar, and use all of my black belt moves to make them stop pretending nothing ever happened. To get up in front of everyone and say, “This person X did [insert abusive activity here] to my friend, and I can’t believe you’re all being so nice to X. You should be ashamed for telling my friend that they are being the least bit unwelcoming… and just think of the sacrifice they made just to be here today.”
Here’s the issue: we don’t, as a society, have the tools with which to deal with this inter-family abuse. It’s all over the media, from Bastard out of Carolina to the Duggars. I’m not convinced that there’s a single answer—but here’s what I wish every person would pledge: no matter how much I love and respect someone, that all humans can possibly be capable of despicable acts. That if I hear or suspect such a thing, I will not turn my back. I will listen. I will breathe. I will be desperately uncomfortable, if need be, because the person speaking to me has surely experienced worse. I will not make the survivor take on the burden of the situation from here out. I will ask what they need. I will try to imagine that it could have been me—in fact, statically it could have—and remember that the person in front to me is not at fault.
So this is to everyone who’s gearing up for the holidays with a few extra anxieties that go beyond what presents you still need to buy, or where that travel toothbrush is. I am in awe of your strength. I wish I could do more to support you. To be fair, punching someone’s lights out is still not officially off the table, and if the abuser is at the wedding brunch tomorrow, I’m not entirely sure it won’t happen.
