Men Healing Podcast: Episode 6 > Survived the Holidays
It’s January 1, 2012, and although
I wanted a holiday podcast episode to come out earlier around Christmas, it
just didn’t happen. I hope that it will still prove helpful to many of you
despite releasing this episode post-holidays.
I
know that I am not alone when I say that the Christmas holiday season is a
tough, emotional time for me as a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I’ve
talked with other men in my male survivor support group and we all agree that
this time of year is a challenging one. For a whole host of reasons, too. Of
course I don’t know what everyone else struggles with, but I hope by speaking
about some of mine, it will connect with those of you listening in some small
way.
Please write and let me know your
thoughts on what follows. I’d appreciate it.
I
feel the dark clouds looming over my head by November at the latest. I’m not
fully aware of these negative feelings but there is an underlying mood that
creeps in and is constantly triggered by the sight of Christmas decorations,
ads, newly erected Christmas trees and the music beginning to be heard
seemingly everywhere.
When
the season inches closer, people start asking me about my holiday plans and I
never, hardly ever have an answer until the last possible minute. Why? Because I
think deep down I’d rather disappear for the 2 weeks of intense Christmas fever
from around December 20 to January 2 or so. I’ve wanted nothing to do with it
for years now. And what sucks is that so many people wonder why. Except for
fellow male survivors who also wish they could just disappear and come back
onto the scene once everyone else goes through the motions and pretences needed
to ‘survive the holidays’, as they say.
I hate when people call me a scrooge. Or the
Grinch. When I go to friends’ places and it looks like Santa Claus threw up in
their living room I just want to run from it all and not have to fake a smile
every time I wish someone else a Merry Christmas.
I
remember my Christmas day at my grandparents including my uncle sneaking me up
to his old bedroom and sexually abusing me while uncles, aunts, cousins and my
parents were downstairs wrapped up in the food, chatter and seasonal good
times. I remember the number of embarrassing times I had to wait to come down
the stairs when called for dinner because I couldn’t hide my pre-teen erection
and needed to wait before showing up at the table. I remember my father
speaking openly about the inappropriateness of how my uncle held or played with
me while we were all sitting around and I remember hearing my aunts defend my
uncle and instead putting my dad down for having such considerations and daring
to voice them.
My
Christmas experiences that followed those that included the abuse were never
great, either, and I think I put the puzzle pieces together as to why. Once I
let out the secret that my uncle had sexually abused me, we stopped meeting the
rest of the family at my grandparents and showed up the day after. There’s a
picture my mom took of my sister and I that first Christmas of separated visiting.
We are sitting on my grandparent’s couch opening gifts that were left for us by
other family members the day before. You can see the pain and sadness in my
eyes and you can see that the smile on my face is forced. I’ll never get the
image out of my head.
It’s
the face of a boy who has been punished for being the victim of abuse. It’s the
face of a boy who wishes he had been at his grandparents the day before able to
play and laugh with his cousins like all the years before. It’s the face of a
boy who regretted letting the secret out because of what came after: turmoil,
family struggles and suffering.
What
really should’ve happened is that my uncle should’ve stayed home and not been
allowed to enjoy the holiday time with his family. He should have his fucking
balls ripped off and thrown to the dogs and not be allowed to be in the same
room with a young child ever again. But instead I endured years of hardship and
watching a family fall apart because the secret was kept and the innocent one –
me – was put through hell while the guilty one – my uncle- continued on as if
nothing had happened and has likely committed the same damn crime again.
So,
a couple of weeks ago while reading and thinking, I got those puzzle pieces I
mentioned. I realized why so many other Christmas days with my family ended up
in horrific yelling matches between my mother and me. I came to realize why my
teen years were full of absolute stubborn refusal to ever follow what anyone of
authority wanted me to do and why my teeth grinding insolence toward my parents
was so deep-seated and unwavering: they hadn’t pulled through for me. They
hadn’t protected me from the harm my uncle caused me and the fallout after I
came forward made me suffer much much more than it did him.
I
sit year after year when the holidays are arriving and try to remember a
Christmas time that was enjoyable and I can’t really. there were so many bad
Christmas experiences that I’ve spent years dreading the holidays and wanting
to punch people in the head when they shit on me for not wanting anything to do
with this difficult season that only reminds me of having my soul ripped apart
and repeatedly stepped on rather than a time of goodwill towards all men.
