Forgive, Forget, or F*ck off

I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I am also a writer. It’s impossible for me to separate the plain, everyday meanings of these words from the enormous weight they carry for me as I struggle, daily, to heal my wounds.

Words have power. All my life, words have been my tools, my weapons, and my livelihood. There is no word I struggle with more than “forgive.”

I once knew a sexual abuse survivor who was struggling with the decision whether or not to ask her step brother, who’d abused her as a child, to take part in her upcoming wedding. Her family, naturally, was all for it. Can’t you just forgive him, they asked her over and over again. 

I would occasionally see the family member who abused me when I visited my home town, usually during holidays. My mother would constantly remind me how much he wanted to see me, and insist I make time in my schedule to visit him. This situation came to a head during one visit home when I said “yes” to an invitation I should have said “no” to. It was Christmas time. I was tired of saying no to my mother. I thought I would be OK.

I wasn’t. I woke up the next morning in a panic attack so bad my husband had to grab my leg to keep me from jumping out my upstairs bedroom window. I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I was just trying to breathe. 

Forgetting, for me, is not an option. I have a very good memory. I will never forget. I don’t want to.

I also do not forgive. And I have stopped apologizing for it. It all boils down to semantics, and like I mentioned earlier, “forgive and forget” is just too hardwired in my brain. To me, the word “forgive” means “saying it’s OK.” It’s not, and it never will be. 

Believe me, I’ve discussed this with plenty of people. I’ve heard all the arguments. I know I’m supposed to forgive because it will empower me, and take away the power the abuser had over me, etc. etc. Phooey. I’m plenty empowered, and he has no power over me. He never did.

All my life, I’ve rejected easy answers. “Either/or” scenarios are for people too lazy to think of alternatives. So while “Fuck Off” is always appealing, I’ve found a fourth answer. For me, it’s acceptance. 

Acceptance means knowing myself, down to the bone, and being comfortable with who I am. It means remembering, and understanding, and dealing with, what happened. It never should have happened, but it went into making me who I am, and it’s why I do what I do. And since I’m happy with both, I’m at peace. I accept the past, the present, and whatever comes in the future. 

I’m a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I’m not exactly proud of it, but I accept it. It’s made me who I am. And I like myself just fine, thank you very much.