October, Again and Again

When I consider the people in my life who have been victimized by sexual abuse or exploitation - mostly women but some men, I’ve lost count.  Forget about my professional life, which by choice has been an odyssey of human horror.  The sheer amount of sexual abuse I continue to encounter among people I work with, date, get to know, or re-connect with, is staggering.  There is no other word for it.Through the magic of Facebook, I’ve re-connected with dozens of people I grew up with in Northern Virginia, suburban kids whose upbringing was similar to my own in terms of demographics and social status.  I relocated back to Washington, DC last year, so I’ve been able to make a couple of informal reunions.   They’ve been warm and gratifying; thankfully, most of the kids I came of age with have found happiness and success in various ways, many of them in or close to Sterling Park, the development we called home.  But the dark side of these reconnections has raised its head also.  Mostly because they know what I do for a living, several of them have revealed to me how they, their children or someone else precious in their life were sexually abused or exploited at some point over the long years.  Some of it dates back to the 1970’s and our childhood.  Some of it is as recent as this year.  I shouldn’t be amazed anymore.  But I am.For the sexual abuse they endured in childhood, most never told anyone.  This is remarkably typical.  We- those of us charged with doing something about it- find out about child sex abuse in various ways.  Mostly the disclosure is accidental, meaning the child will confide in a friend who then reveals the abuse to a teacher or a parent.  Some victims appear abnormally sexualized at very young ages, prompting the investigation.  Rarely, someone will actually walk in on the abuse while it’s happening.  But purposeful disclosure of child sex abuse, meaning a child with the wherewithal to speak up for herself and seek help, is rare. Most victims find creative ways of blaming themselves, placing the responsibility for both the abuse and ending it- on their own shoulders.  If they do tell, it is often met with disbelief, denial, and a sweeping of the issue under the rug.  Things are improving, but it’s still a terribly difficult thing for a non-offending parent, usually a mother, to digest the fact that a trusted man in her life is sexually abusing her children.  Particularly when the abuser is her husband and the biological father of the child (a surprisingly common scenario), accepting the reality and acting appropriately is just a bridge too far.Sexual victimization- and the accompanying self-blame- hardly ends in childhood.  At every stage and in every area of my life I’ve encountered women who have been raped- although many of them either don’t characterize it that way, or at very least don’t understand that they could.  This is because many of them were victimized after passing out from drinking while in the company of the person who committed the rape.  Unfortunately but typically, they don’t see themselves as rape victims.  They see themselves as blame-worthy participants, guilty for having drunk too much and engaging in risky behavior.  Even women I know who were sober victims of an acquaintance or a boyfriend blame themselves for “getting him too riled up,” or making bad choices about where to sleep. They will tell me in the same breath that they’ve never quite gotten over what happened, but that they have only themselves to blame for bad decisions or what they think was “miscommunication,” and so they have little to complain about.I try to be careful in these situations; it’s not my place to define another person’s experience or to insist that a woman is a victim when she doesn’t see herself as one.  But then I hear them talk about how they’re still suffering so many years later.  Or how they’re fine now, but college was never quite the same afterward.  Or simply that the first smell of chimney smoke in late October brings the memory rushing back, and it takes a day or two to feel themselves again.These experiences, and their aftermath, they believe almost uniformly is their fault.  It is not.  These crimes, they believe almost uniformly, were the work of an otherwise decent guy who just went too far.  Because he was also drunk, or because she “led him on.”  They are incorrect.  Most rape is serial rape, and most men who rape, either through the use of their body weight, alcohol or a combination of the two, will do so again and again.  They won’t hide in bushes, wear a mask or wield knives; there’s no need.  Instead they’ll orchestrate a scenario and set a trap.  Then they’ll play hard on the ancient myths and timeless guilt that wither the resolve of their victims to do anything but sit Sphinx-like until the misery passes.  For most, it does pass, at least in large measure.  And life goes on.But then October returns, the smoke drifts, and the haunting resumes.  Again.