Happiness is nothing more than good health and a bad memory –Albert Schweitzer I grew up sexually abused. I've since learned that we 'survivors' have a universal habit of looking at our situation as Could Have Been Worse Than It Was.
I do it, too. Mine has always been: Well, at least it wasn't a blood relative (because it wasn't my biological father). I don't know why we do this, but we do. In order not to drown in the Awfulness of it all? To find someone who Had It Worse?
I don't know. I do know that about 10 years ago, I was a part of a group of sexual abuse survivors who met for several months. It was my first time with Real Life other people "like me" and it was eye-opening. It also reinforced my habit of 'downplaying' my abuse. OMGosh, these women had it SO bad. Fathers and brothers abusing them, their pasts so traumatic that most of them had gaping holes in their memories where they couldn't remember everything, most of them overweight in an effort to 'hide' themselves and their bodies from being attractive.
I, on the other hand, remained thin, had no problem remembering every second of my abuse vividly, and it was 'only' my stepfather not a "real" relative. (and because my mother didn't end up marrying him for years later, he really wasn't even 'related' to me at the time of the abuse). So I concluded again that It Could Have Been Worse. When anyone hears that I was abused (it's precious few that know), and that subsequently had a problematic marriage they assume that I have "sex" problems. That my husband Wants It, but I must have some Post-Traumatic Sex Disorder.
As we all know here, that's not an issue for me. Not in my marriage anyway, but it was once a hill to climb.
I was pretty sexual early on; that seems to be the fork in the road for abuse victims: they either shut down their sexuality as 'dirty', or else go hog-wild to the other end. I threw sex around without much concern. The more the better. Oink.
Yet, I recall crying silently during The Act on more than one occasion. College, mostly. In the missionary position, I have some vivid memories of wanting to scream, to claw, to Stop It, (with a long-term boyfriend whom I really did love) -and yet I remained silent and wept secretly into his shoulder as I grit my teeth.
There was this one summer of unspecified angst, and then it somehow worked itself out. I have never felt that way again during sex. [With one exception, but it wasn't an abuse flashback, I was just having sex with someone who I wished was someone else. So that doesn't really count, but it was the same wanting-to-scream-while-crying-silently misery, so I'll include it here in my quest for full disclosure].
It did take me some years to quit being all about my partner's pleasure, to the exclusion of my own. That was just general ignorance -coupled with the desire for 'power' in the bed (residual from not having any power previously, I'm sure). Now I really love the idea of being 'taken' and controlled in a sexy, eyes-open, healthy-relationship type of way. So I've come full circle, I suppose.
I actually discovered my first non-faked orgasm completely by accident with my college boyfriend. So that's what the big deal was. Sex had been fun, but it got a LOT more fun that year. And I learned how to ask for what I wanted, which I learned (surprise) was pretty appealing. You know, I haven't done that kind of asking in many years. Shame on me. Something to change.
I think about that "bad sex" time occasionally because -in hindsight- I'm grateful for it. [Edited to Add: the time I'm speaking about here is the college-boyfriend-time. Needed to clarify] It was brutal, but it exorcised a demon out of me. I've never felt 'abused' before, during, or after consensual sex. That, I think, was a God thing. Only He could fix that so decisively. And I'm thankful to not have that issue on the table. Life's hard enough.
