There’s a lot of news right now about men in power sexually abusing those not in power.  Years, and sometimes decades go by and these victims don’t speak up, not a word.  They bundle up their nasty secrets, carrying them deep inside their psyche, where they quietly fester and infect, never healing.

Why don’t they talk?  Why the silence for years then a sudden surge of going public? Are these people making this shit up?  Do they want attention?  Money?  What the fuck is going on?  They must be lying, most likely to exact revenge for some mis-perceived slight which they probably deserved anyway.

Some lucky fuckers don’t get it.  Why the silence?   These people that don’t get it are members of a small elite society.  They’ve never been a victim.  They wouldn’t know how.  They get to go to bed at night and there is no monster looming.  They’re not guarded in their joy.  Their world isn’t constrained by a narrow field of safety.  When they  laugh, there is no sinister voice quietly insisting that they have no right to happiness.  They  have no “dirty” secrets to hide. They are faultless.

Most likely, if you’re in this group, it’s through no effort of your own.  It’s just shit luck that you landed there.  I’m not chastising you for being one of the luckies, but you need to understand why victims don’t talk and stop making their lives worse by doubting their honesty.

Last night my husband asked me if I had anything happen sexually to me as an adult that I kept secret.  I had to stop and think.  Surprisingly, the answer was “no.”  At least not as an adult.  It was at that point I realized how very lucky I am.   Yes, there has been a lot of teasing and joking around, but it’s not the same as being coerced to give someone you detest a blow job so you can keep your job, life, car, whatever.

Yes, I said blow job.  It’s easy (sort of) to say, “I was sexually abused.”  It’s hard as fuck to say, “I had to pull on his dick and then suck it until he ejaculated all over my face.” The details are humiliating and if you can understand that, then you can understand one of the reasons victims stay quiet. Who wants to admit to that shit?  Out loud?  Don’t think so.

But the main reason is shame.  We are taught (let’s call it by it’s real name: groomed) as children to do as our grownups–teachers, parents, superiors–said.  Be a good girl.  Obey.  Obey.  Obey.  The more this is crammed into your developing being, the more likely you’re going to keep your trap shut about stuff that’s obviously your own fault.   Obey.

Shame says:  But hey!  Let’s face it.  You could have said no.  You could have walked away.  You could have asserted yourself.  You should have accepted that you were going to lose your job, or your friend, or your father, uncle, or who-the-fuck-ever.  But you didn’t.  Shut the fuck up and don’t talk about it.

Victims aren’t stupid.  Yes, the rational brain quietly and logically says you didn’t do it of your own free will, and it’s not your fault.  But we don’t listen to our brains.  Not when the child heart is screaming, accusing you.  “You didn’t stop it.  You made a choice not to stop it.  This is your fault. You’re a dumb fuck and deserve this.”  “Your fault.”  “Your fault.”  “Your fault.”  There is no “no” in your vocabulary.

That’s bullshit.   You know it.  I know it.  What’s worse, the victims know it.  Yes, their cognitive powers can explain in simple terms why it’s not their fault, but the child heart always prevails.  Unless you can feel your own innocence in your heart, it matters diddly squat what your common sense is telling you.  You can’t logic away feelings, not even you Sagittarians.  The shame is all yours, to have and to hold.

In a convoluted sort of way, I  have the best of both worlds.

I was raised a victim.  I know the fear.  That fucking sinking dread taking over when you realize it’s going to happen (again) and there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it.  The terror paralyzes you.   There is no fight, never a fight, just a despondent acquiescence. Obey.  Obey.  Obey.  There is no “no” in your world.  And it happens again and again and again and again and again and again.  Each time, your shame buries the shards of your self worth deeper and deeper into the silence until there is no longer a you.

I went through a lot of shit when I was a kid.   It wasn’t until my husband asked me that question that I realized that I’m no longer a victim.  I am no longer powerless.  I’m no longer a deer in the headlights.  But I get it.  I know why victims don’t talk.  And hopefully, now you do too.

I paid my dues.  They’re paying theirs too.