A Vicious Cycle

This blog by 5WAVES cofounder Maria Socolof is re-posted with permission from her website, healingfromchronicpain.com. The site contains a wealth of information for those whose trauma has led to physical ailments or chronic pain.

When I’m in therapy, my shoulder often twitches. We’ve identified the twitch as Little Me—ten-year-old me, traumatized me, neck-pain-causing me.

When I’m in therapy, and sometimes not, my Blanking Part takes over, and I suddenly can’t remember what we were talking about.

Adult Me is always present but sometimes is overtaken by the other parts. They apparently need to be heard.

Let’s have a look . . .

Shoulder’s twitching, I start feeling nauseous. Little Me (LM) says that what happened to her disgusts her. (As an aside, I couldn’t think of the word “disgust” for three minutes as I was writing this, thank you, Blanking Part.)

Therapist asks if I can let go of the disgust and the sick feeling in my stomach.

LM isn’t sure. 

Therapist asks: “Why not?”

LM answers: “Then no one will know how bad it was.”

Adult Me starts chanting: “Let it go.”

I soon realize I don’t remember what I’m supposed to let go of. Thank you very much, Blanking Part. 

Therapist reminds me: “Let go of the disgust.”

In swoops Minimizing Part: “I have no right to be this disgusted. It wasn’t that bad.”

LM is stymied from letting go, because it wasn’t that bad, as Minimizing Part has asserted.  

Shoulder twitches because LM is no longer heard. She speaks in the only way she knows how. Twitching for attention.

And so the vicious cycle continues. 

To Professionals, From a Parent

Brandy’s note: This blog is based on exit survey feedback to our family’s social service providers. 

Let me start by saying I appreciate what you all do. We came to your agency because we needed to. But you chose this job and you choose to work with some of the most difficult aspects of humanity day after day. Your work is so necessary and is not compensated or celebrated as much as other helping occupations. Thank you for devoting yourself to helping children and parents during the darkest parts of our lives. 

With that in mind I would like to respectfully share some thoughts based on my own experience; things that I wish had been different, as well as things that were done well and which I appreciated.  

Parents who have just found out their child was sexually abused have received one of the biggest shocks of their lives. It overwhelms not only our emotions but our ability to think rationally. If you meet us at this time, you are not seeing us at our best or even at our normal selves. If we get emotional or angry, try not to take it personally, but rather as a sign that we need help.  

Please do not assume we will remember everything you tell us the first time. Provide information in both speaking and writing, or at least ask which we prefer. Please understand that if we decline a service or say we are OK, we may not really even know what we need or how we feel yet. Check again in a few days or in a few weeks.  

Be mindful of other appointments and demands on families’ time, finances, and mental energy at this time. Remember that all the other commitments and stresses that were already present in our lives won’t stop while we deal with our children’s trauma and/or abusive behavior. We may not be able to think more than a day or two in advance because there are so many things hitting us at once, and our brains are on overload.  

Remember that this world, “the system”, is totally new to most of us. We have no idea what to expect, no context in which to put what is happening to us. Try not to use social service or legal jargon without explaining what it means. Things as simple as who makes appointments, what each appointment is for, how long various processes will take, whether to contact you by phone or text or email, can be barriers to locating or receiving help.

You may see many clients and see similarities between cases, but remember that there is no typical case. Everyone’s situation is unique in some way. Look for ways that our family’s situation is different than what you usually see. Try to tailor educational materials as much as possible to the type of abuse, age of the survivor and offender, relationship between them, age of disclosure, cultural background, etc. 

When your best materials differ from our family’s situation, acknowledge and explain that. It can be confusing and discouraging to be given information that doesn’t apply to our particular circumstances. Examples might include assuming abusive behavior was by an adult rather than by another child, or assuming the abuse was still happening when it was disclosed rather than years in the past.  

Be honest and transparent from the start. It is the only way to build the trust needed to support us. If you have to do something because it is required by law or by another agency, explain that from the start. If you wish you didn’t have to do it, go ahead and say that, too.    

If a child or parent needs support that your agency can’t provide or that you don’t have at your fingertips, please help us find it. Don’t assume we will have the search skills, time, or mental energy to find it on our own.  

It would be especially helpful to have referral information available for various kinds of legal help. Parents may be facing issues of preserving or changing custody, immigration status, rights as parents of victims in the criminal legal system, prosecution of the child who caused harm, getting a child into treatment for harmful sexual behavior, losing housing, etc. Early decisions made without understanding the legal consequences can have major implications down the road. Social service providers can’t give legal advice, but should be aware that many families will need the help of legal advocates.

Finally, no matter how skilled or experienced you are in your profession, you cannot replace the support that comes from other parents who have experienced the same thing. The sooner families are connected to peer support, the better. If there is no in-person group, online support (see below) is much better than nothing. Hearing “a lot of parents feel like that,” is quite different than, “I have been there, I know how it feels.” 

Resource list:

CSA Centre Guide: Supporting Parents and Carers; a guide for those working with families affected by child sexual abuse

SiblingSexualTrauma.com/Professionals

Facebook support group: Parents Coping with Sibling Sexual Trauma & Abuse 

Facebook support group for parents of any child who has been sexually abused: MOSAC Chat Page for Mothers 

Discord support group: contact info@5waves.org 

SiblingSexualTrauma.com/Parents

Safer Society Foundation: Healthy Families or Familias Sanas Guide for Parents of Children with Sexual Behavior Problems

Stop Downplaying What it Was

This month's blog features an excerpt from Alice Perle's recently released book, Resolve: a story of courage, healthy inquiry and recovery from sibling sexual abuse. (available globally in paperback, Kindle eBook and audiobook, read by the author. From Chapter 10, Uncomfortable Truths.

One exercise was to write a poem about any challenging or life-changing experience. Immediately, this prompt brought to the surface of my mind a visual, an old black-and-white movie that was often playing right behind my eyes. I realised I'd never acknowledged it, nor said anything about it, this film clip that had played on repeat just for me for a very long time.

I sat with that writing prompt and wrote these words that I also had no idea were waiting to be written out from within me, but they came incredibly easily:

Alert, breathing, waiting.

Only she hears the quietest of footsteps.

No one else hears; does no one else have ears?

Why does no one else ever hear?

Heartbeat drumming, tummy churning, mind empty.

Going limp, waiting to be trapped.

Dread as footsteps stop beside her bed.

Then, Dad’s cough from the next room.

Like playing ‘Marco?’ but no one responded ‘Polo!’

Dad’s subconscious screaming, ‘Wake up!’

Ah, uncertainty, now hovering, risk of capture.

She can’t hear him breathe.

It feels like minutes, yet parts of a second.

Slow, slow, slow; tick, tock, clock,

tick, tock, stop; please stop; stay stopped.

Her breath short, pretending to be dead.

Wishing for invisibility, to magic

herself through the bed,

into the dark beneath.

His feet shift on the carpet. Exquisite

awareness, her every sense alert.

Hopeful, is he going to scurry away?

The tiniest movement, the carpet

squeaking under bare feet.

He hesitates, uncertain, unfulfilled.

He’s boiling mad. Will he risk it?

She waits, praying for a sign that tonight she’s safe.

Then, dozing off, and, as if in a

dream, recalls a shadow.

Alert, the shadow looming was gone.

Heart and breath return to an even rhythm.

Body loose, she drifts into childhood

dreams of cloud lands,

of kittens and fairies and troll bridges.

The bogeyman fades from her mind.

Until next time. There’s always a next time.

~8-year-old Me~

As I finished writing the words of the poem, I stared at how I had signed it off: 8-year-old Me. My pen paused and then kept going as if it had its own mind or possibly its own soul. Be honest with yourself, the pen challenged as it wriggled in between my fingers. It’s okay now to see what it was.

Stop downplaying it: that was your childhood experience.

That film clip running on repeat behind my eyes wasn’t a fictional scene from a film. It was a memory of childhood nights in my little bedroom at the front of the house, a shared bedroom where I was meant to be safe and soundly asleep.

My pen added four additional lines:

9-year-old Me.

10-year-old Me.

11-year-old Me.

12-year-old Me got my first period.

The first draft of the book I’d done before finding therapy was fairly dry and fact-filled. Finally, this little exercise made me realise that acknowledging abuse was more than just saying, ‘When I was a child, or between the years of eight and eleven, my brother abused me’. This visual I’d been having showed me it was about more than just the nights and days I was actually abused. I was affected in all the moments in between too, as tension, vigilance and feeling unsafe became a part of my daily life.

Alice Perle (pen name) is an author, self-leadership coach, business mentor and 3 Vital Questions certified facilitator. She is a survivor of sibling sexual abuse, a loving wife and mother of three adult daughters. Alice posts a weekly blog via her website, www.aliceperle.com.au, Goodreads and social media, @resolvebyaliceperle on Instagram, Facebook and YouTube.

Resolve: a story of courage, healthy inquiry and recovery from sibling sexual abuse is available globally in paperback, Kindle eBook and audiobook (read by the author).