Over 90% of juvenile sex abuse victims know their abusers.
This is her story.
i was sexually abused by my mother.
i can’t remember much more than the feelings. i have memories of bizarre things happening; seeming out of whack, and then the memories of the actual internal feelings, but no memories that connect these two categories.
it was the kind of abuse that was sugary, sticky, fermented, sickly-sweet. it was gentle, and mostly felt good - at the time. she touched my clitoris. she never penetrated. i remember her sharp fingernails. it felt good but then she did it too much and left my clitoris raw, sore, over-rubbed. it felt good, but sickening. like something that is so sweet as to be nauseating.
the feeling of being unable to control the pleasure sensations inside me was overwhelming. made me feel completely freaked out. it was all happening inside my body, my pelvis, my genitals. in that way, i felt like i had to claim it as my own.
the hardest thing is to have the same sensation of sexual pleasure come up in my body now - the context is different, yes, but my body reads it so much the same.
and how can i not be reminded?
and i wonder: when will the feeling of disgust that lies low in my belly go away? i’m reading all the books, doing all the right things, and it won’t go away.
it might be easier if i had words for it but i don’t. it came before words. it’s this mix of sexual arousal and pain. it’s shame, and violation, and a deep discomfort in my own skin. it’s little flutters and spasms in my genitals. it’s pleasure mixed with gut-wrenching guilt and fear and shame.
the part where it felt good is the hardest to admit. to “re-experience” the trauma means thinking about my mom touching me and also feeling good, and those things together are so awful, humiliating, disgusting. i don’t know how i became aroused as a four year-old, but i did and i wanted more when it stopped, i wanted her to touch me in my ‘special place’ again.
i was sad when it stopped- how to think about abuse in those terms? in some ways it seems like it would be so much easier if i hated it at the time, wanted it to stop, said no. instead, on some level, my body liked it.