A short story of a life

"You know the truth," my therapist said. "You know it inside your self."

I hated it when she said that. I wanted her to give me an answer now. What she was talking about meant I'd have to learn to trust my instincts. That was something that I found very difficult after growing up in a "wonderful Christian" home that I felt was hiding sexual abuse. I often was pulled back to this question. Were my memories true ? My father denied the abuse and my mother and rest of the family had run to his defense and left me on the outside. It was very hard and left me wondering if my memories were true . So I often debated it with myself in my head.

I was 24 years old, in college at Michigan State University majoring in psychology and taking any class that looked interesting. I was floating; most of my energy was going to my therapy. I was in school mostly because I found it easier than working full time. In my family it was one or the other. I didn't know what I wanted to "be when I grew up." So I was in school and unbeknown to my family, I had started therapy. During therapy I realized that my dad had sexually abused me.

I didn't want to believe that my dad had done such a horrible thing to me, but yet I also believed myself. I had spent so much time over the years trying to get somebody to help me. I'd been asking for help, sometimes in blatant ways, sometimes in unconscious ways. I had often become depressed, had even attempted suicide. I had found growing up to be a very difficult experience. I had started therapy to try and understand myself. And now I was finding answers, just not answers that I wanted.

As a child I had often been a worrier and had a lot of stomachaches that my dad referred to as a worrier's stomach. The depression had started most seriously in High School. I remember one week my senior year, realizing how seriously I was thinking about killing myself, that I scared myself. All these symptoms add to my belief that I'm right.

After graduation, I went away to a Christian school and struggled with a lot of depression there too. But I enjoyed being away from my family and was sad to have to move back home after college graduation. I needed to move out of my father's house but felt that was impossible. This was not something my parents encouraged either. They wanted me home. I often complained to friends that I wanted to runaway from home. One friend commented that, as I was an adult, I didn't need to run away, I should just move out. But for some reason it didn't feel possible to me.

I was still in school taking classes, partially because my dad wanted me to. Another friend of mine was trying to convince me to go to a counselor. We argued about it often. I thought about her arguments and I talked to God about it. I had seen counselors in the past; it had never gone well. I had many reasons why it hadn't worked in the past and wouldn't help me now. I told God I would go back to therapy if five things happened. My parents couldn't know about it, I had to be not living at home. It had to be free, the therapist had to be a lady, and she had to be a Christian. I knew those stipulations would never come true , if only because I couldn't afford to move out of the house. About a week later dad told me he would pay for me to move into the dorm at school, so that I wouldn't have to drive through the winter weather. I was absolutely shocked! The one thing I KNEW wouldn't happen had happened!

It took about a month to get into the dorm. I still put off getting a counselor, but finally I found one that fit most on my criteria. I couldn't find one that was free, but did find one that was cheap.

Therapy was so good for me. It was what I needed. Honestly, looking back on it now, even without starting to deal with the sexual abuse, to me, it seems incredible the things I learned. I worked hard. It was very difficult.

I've always wondered why I needed the therapy. Why wasn't I able to move out till I got into therapy? I know my parents loved me. Why didn't they see I needed to get out on my own? I guess it's just hard sometimes to give others what they need even when it hurts. The problem is that the way I ended up doing it ripped me out of my family and now we can hardly even be friends because I hurt them so badly.

I couldn't remember the abuse till I got into therapy. That was the first time I felt safe and that somebody actually listened to me.



My parents always used to tell me I kept them young. I was the youngest of a very big family. After I started therapy and started to finally feel like a grown up, I worried that I wasn't keeping them young anymore. Then one day I was talking to my mom and the topic came up and she said I was keeping her young. As we talked, I realized that she always looked at me as someone that needed to be taken care of either by her or by my family or by a husband. That is sad that she couldn't see that I could take care of myself. I wish she had lived to see me now, I take care of others.

I got several part time jobs, because I didn't like working in one job all day. So instead I worked two or three different jobs. I worked in the MSU library, in book repair. I did yard work and cleaned houses. I enjoyed it. I occasionally did portraits in pastels for people and made money that way. I found ways to support myself that were very different from my family. I was trying to find myself separately from my family. This was very important

After about two years in therapy I looked at my finances and how I was getting along with family. I decided to move out of the house. I told my parents what I wanted to do. They were very against it, afraid, they felt it was dangerous to live in E Lansing. But I convinced them that there was a good lock on my bedroom door and gradually they accepted that I was going to do it.

I was happy to move out. But it was scary. What if I couldn't afford it? And it has been very hard to live on my own. I went from an upper class life style in my dad's house to almost the bottom of the economic ladder. I've never made enough money to live at the same level as I came from. And I do miss the higher standard of living. But I have always had a roof over my head, and never starved. Plus I am happier and that is most important.

Over time, I'm learning growing and finally becoming an adult. And it isn't half as bad as I thought it would be. I'm learning to live my life as I want to and that that is ok. Life is about learning to trust yourself to take care of yourself, to trust your instincts. And live.
copyright Violet R Schulert 2002