I haven't shared this part of my story of incest as much as I have the issues concerning my dad being one of my abusers. The sexual abuse by my uncle was only three days total. My dad kept me as an incest victim for six years.Those six years of abuse from my dad had the greater degree of effects just because I was being sexually abused by my dad who should have been protecting me rather than betraying me physically, emotionally and sexually.
On the other hand, the three days of sexual abuse by my uncle were my first memories of incest happening to me. I don't know if I was a virgin or not when my uncle sexually abused me. Looking back into those memories, I don't see any blood but then my 11-year-old mind may have blocked out the blood from my memories. I can see everything else but I still don't have the feelings to go with those three days of memories. I can feel my anger as an adult looking back at the child that I was but I don't remember the feelings of that little girl and at 11 years old, I was part little girl, just on the thresh hold of becoming a woman. My periods didn't start for several more months. My breasts had not started to develop just yet. My body was still that of a little girl.
My uncle came to visit my family one evening and asked my mother if I could go fishing with him the next day. I wasn't asked by either adult if I wanted to go fishing. This was never one of my favorite uncles. He was probably an alcoholic. I know that I always felt strange around him, not quite trusting of him, without knowing why. I didn't want to go fishing just him and me but I wasn't asked. I was not given choices as a child. I was simply told what to do by most of the adults in my life.
What followed was a day spent in the back seat of my uncle's car, just him and me. We were in a secluded spot at the end of a road that did actually end at the creek bank. Fishing poles were never used that day. I don't even know if he had any in the trunk of his car. I never saw them. I was told to take off my shorts and panties. I was not given a choice in anything that happened to me as a child. I was taught to be a victim at an early age.
I won't describe the physical pain and the emotional horror that I experienced that day in my uncle's car. To get away from the physical pain, I learned to shut my eyes and go inside away from the sights and feelings of pain. I believe this is probably the point in sexual abuse that some children split into other personalities in order to deal with their pain. I shut my eyes but couldn't shut out the sounds. I was too afraid to shut out the sounds because someone might drive down the road we were on and find us. I went on supervigilence with my ears since my eyes were closed. Even today with all of the work that I have done on myself, I can't seem to get close enough in my mind to see all of what happened that day and I am okay with that.
Until I was in my 40's, I thought that time in the back seat of my uncle's car was my first time of being raped as a child. It wasn't. I don't have the memories of being sexually abused before the age of 11, but I have several clues. Around 1990, I was asked to be a guest speaker at an Alano Club (a 12-Step meeting place) 10th Anniversary meeting. I had never shared my story except as bits and pieces before that so I tape recorded the talk that I gave. The third time that I listened to the tape, I heard myself talk about being three years old and labeling myself as an adulteress in church where I was sitting with my grandmother. The Assembly of God preacher was talking about the sin of adultery and how you were going to Hell unless you asked God for forgiveness. As a three-year-old, I understood that adultery was sex with a married person. My three-year-old self labeled me as an adulteress that day. The memory was there pushed to the back of my mind until I said it out loud in my speech about incest and alcoholism.
My uncle asked my mother if I could go home with him to visit my grandmother for the week. She said yes. When we got to my grandmother's house, she wasn't there. She didn't come home until sometime on Monday. I was raped a number of times over the weekend when we were there by ourselves. My little girl's body has never experienced the kind of soreness that I felt for that weekend of sex with a 50+ year old man. I survived.
Several weeks later my dad decided that I was old enough to start helping out at the dairy barn that he worked in as a second job every morning and every evening. My mom worked during the week days with him and I worked on Saturdays and Sundays for the year or so that he had that job. I remember the horror and disgust that I felt at his betrayal when he took me up into the loft of the hay barn that first night and in the dark, he also raped me, just like my uncle had done. I remember the feeling of digust that my own dad would do that to me. I knew that each Saturday and Sunday morning and evening, I could look forward to being raped after I finished washing up the milking machines and my dad finished cleaning up the barn. I know that went on for at least a year before we moved and he went on to other jobs. The rapes by my dad mostly happened away from home in the front seat of his truck. I was raped at least once or twice a week, sometimes more for the next six years until I was 17.
The sexual abuse stopped when I was 17 because I was finally tired enough from living with the constant stress and fear that if my dad had not accepted my no's then I would have told someone about the incest. I was so tired and I was only 17. The sexual abuse stopped but the pressure and the emotional abuse did not stop until I ran away at age 19 after taking my last test for the semester at the small junior college that I attended my first two years of college.
You may ask how could these rapes happen to that little girl? How did no one see? Why did no one stop them from happening? Why didn't the little girl tell? Well here are just some of the reasons that it was allowed to happen:
1. I grew up in the 1950's and 1960's in the South in the U. S. In some families, children were still thought of as the property of their parents. My dad was a dictator who made all of the decisions in our family. The only time my mom made a decision was when my dad wasn't around and many times, she would still wait until my dad got home to make the decisions. That is why I was so surprised that she let me go any where with my uncle.
2. I was taught to do what I was told by all adults. They had full authority over me. I learned to do as I was told and to be quiet and not draw attention to myself in any way.
3. Early on, I was taught to protect my mom and her feelings. I was taught that women were weaker than men. Men were in control.
4. I was taught that little girls had to be nice at all times. Being nice meant doing what you were told and not arguing. Good little girls weren't allowed to get angry either.
5. Other people's feelings were more important than mine, especially if they were adults. I couldn't say no to my uncle or my dad because it might hurt their feelings. My feelings were of no value to anyone so they became unimportant to me.
6. Being strong meant being silent throughout the pain of the rapes.
7. Good girls didn't have sex except with their husbands after they were married.
All of these messages became my issues that had to be acknowledged and dealt with when I finally started to heal as a 38-year-old. Before I could let go of any of this garbage from my childhood, I had to see them as the lies that the adults in my life taught me when I was a child. For more of my story, especially what I learned as I grew and healed from incest, you will need to visit my blog Spiritual Journey Of A Lightworker at the following link: