You're Only As Sick As Your Secrets

BALBOA PRESS

Contents

Chapter 1 Illusions ~ The Ultimate Denial..................................................1Chapter 2 Reflections In Little Mirrors....................................................5Chapter 3 The Journey Begins ..............................................................9Chapter 4 A Different Perspective..........................................................11Chapter 5 The Realization..................................................................15Chapter 6 Support ... Finding, Then Allowing...............................................19Chapter 7 The Self-Chastising ~ "Get over it!".............................................23Chapter 8 A Memory Unfolds.................................................................27Chapter 9 The Harsh Reality................................................................29Chapter 10 Food For Thought On Awareness, Prevention, and Intervention.....................35Chapter 11 Unacted Upon Chances for Change.................................................41Chapter 12 Why Hadn't I Disclosed?.........................................................45Chapter 13 Avenues To Healing..............................................................49Chapter 14 A Support System................................................................53Chapter 15 After Three Decades ... Allowance...............................................55Chapter 16 Repercussions of Abuse on Spirituality and Sense of Self........................65Afterword..................................................................................71

Chapter One

"Oh my God! I'm so lucky! I can't even imagine!" This was the chatter running through my mind as I sat at the grouping of uneven desks. I looked at my colleagues dispersed around this same set of desks each sitting somewhat uncomfortably. I tried to decipher if the discomfort arose from the small chairs made to perfectly fit lower elementary students or if it was from the agenda of that morning's meeting.

In a week or so, our 1st through 3rd grade elementary school would be hosting a play about sexual abuse. The woman sitting with us was explaining this play's powerful message and informing us of the correct procedure should any of our students disclose information about such a situation. The school district had even gone as far as to provide an additional guidance counselor at the school that morning to ensure each child in crisis would receive immediate support.

Before ending the meeting, this same woman directed her attention to each and every one of the eight teachers in attendance. She went on to tell us the high percentage of adults who had been sexually abused as a child. She encouraged us to seek professional help if any memories were to surface for any one of us.

My mind immediately shot back to my carefree childhood days; a mom and dad not separated by divorce; family vacations with relatives (not really related but close enough to call "aunt" and "uncle"); summers spent at our beach house swimming by day and playing kick the can with siblings and neighborhood children by night; happy holidays with my two aunts playing Hawaiian guitars and the rest of us joining in the singing of French songs. Boy, those were the days! Yes, I had my fears and fair share of "down times", but dealing with students in crisis put my own childhood woes into perspective.

The meeting ended with the ringing of the bell and as was the norm, this day began with those energetic little ones filling the halls. Most were bundled with their winter gear; boots, hats, mittens, snow pants and scarves, not to mention backpacks and lunch boxes. But as could be predicted, not all our little ones would be so bundled. (Some were intentional episodes of leaving behind the winter layers and others were just signs of their harsh realities.)

As I made my way down the hall, the guidance counselor informed me we would need to "chat" before the play took place. I nodded in acceptance and without another moment's hesitation, began yet another day of what I'd been doing for nearly 11 years; pouring my heart and soul, intellect and emotion, into my work to provide nothing but my best for my students.

The day of our little "chat" arrived and the only item on the agenda was a student in my class. She was a second grader, just seven years old. We were all concerned about her welfare and had suspicions about sexual abuse. She was self-mutilating on a daily basis, and her mom (and therefore, she and her siblings) was living with a known sex offender. Nothing could be done. All hands were tied UNLESS this hurting child would disclose to us. This would provide a basis for investigation. Hence, the reason for this meeting. I was encouraged to be open and aware of any opportunities that may arise when she would feel comfortable enough to reach out and trust that she'd be supported. Although a huge responsibility initially, her case would then be handled by authorities and professionals trained in this line of intervention work. I took this task very seriously since I believed that for 181 days these students were mine. I felt the need to care for them on all levels; their education and emotional well-being as well as their physical well-being.

On the day of the play, the whole school arrived downstairs in our basement/cafeteria/gymnasium/auditorium; in other words, our multi-purpose room. The stage was set and the play began. Throughout the presentation, I found myself on edge. Periodically, I needed to remind myself to breathe, release my fisted hands, and drop my shoulders. I attributed it to the fact that my eyes were watching not only my little one in crisis, but also the reactions of all those around her. I wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to help a child, especially one in crisis.

Once the play was finished, I ushered my students back to the classroom and had them all sit on the rug so we could talk about what we'd just witnessed. After one student related his feelings and a personal experience similar to the one in the play, several others began to feel more comfortable and tell of their own experiences. I was appalled at just which children were disclosing. These were children who appeared to have families that didn't "fit" the category of exposing themselves to situations that would allow such instances to occur. At the same time, I was relieved that they had disclosed to their parents and the end results were positive.

It was not until we ended our discussion and headed back to our desks that my little one in crisis oh-so-quietly approached me asking to see the guidance counselor. I immediately got coverage for my class and brought her myself.

Later in the day, I was informed that we had, in fact, received a disclosure and the appropriate phone calls and notifications had been made. The process had begun and I was reassured my little one would be in good hands.

The day ended. Though I was emotionally and physically exhausted, I had a sense of satisfaction. I had hope that the sun would rise just a little brighter tomorrow for one seven-year-old little girl.

Chapter Two

As I reflect on my first few years of teaching, I realize I was drawn to two...