My Story
My name is Donna, and I am a survivor of incest which resulted in pregnancy. Incest is truly an insidious form of sexual violence. It is profoundly confusing. It has caused feelings of shame, fear, terror, anger, isolation, helplessness, worthlessness, guilt and self-blaming. I felt defective, inept, unlovable, abandoned, frightened and betrayed for many years.
I can’t put an exact date or year on when the abuse began. I do know it caused me great isolation and a feeling of shame. My father abused me and my siblings, and each of us bares scars from living in that home. I felt abandoned by my mother, and other adults who were supposed to protect me.
For years I had a feeling, a tense anxious vibration in my body, which caused my hands to tremble. A knot would form in my belly, my throat would swell or it would feel like the air I breathed would be stolen from me. For years I couldn't look anyone in the eye, believing they could see the ugliness inside of me, or that somehow this whole nightmare was my fault.
Out of nowhere my body would suddenly send me signals I couldn't understand or control; my heart would pound in my chest; my breathing would slow and that terrible feeling in my belly would arrive at a moment’s notice. Having that monster around with his Old Spice Musk, booze, and cigarette odors always set off those signals, cautioning me something wasn't right. His behavior would be unpredictable, hurtful, and dangerous. I often escaped in my mind, learning how to leave my body, flying above oceans and forests. My senses tell me my mother was around during these times. I have a distinct memory of the smell of Jean Nate perfume lingering in the air on several occasions during the abuse. I have memories/visions of my mother’s back, always walking and looking away, never intervening or helping.
I spent five months away from school at the age of thirteen as a result of the pregnancy, and not one school official asked me any personal questions regarding my absence. I was sent away to an aunt and uncle’s house, where no direct questions were asked of me about who the father was. Their love for me caused me to become attached to them. I did not want to go home when it was time. I attended doctor and attorney appointments, and had communication with an adoption agency. No one asked any questions of me.
Why did no one ever ask, “Who is the father?” How could have this have happened to a thirteen-year-old?
After giving birth, and relinquishing my parental rights I was sent back into the same environment. This was never discussed again for over twenty years. When I returned home, I turned to alcohol at the age of fourteen, as a way to cope. I dropped out of high school, and attempted to numb myself with booze for a couple of decades.
Relinquishing parental rights to a child, doesn't mean they ever leave your heart. I thought of that little boy daily, wondered if he was loved or abused. I prayed he lived a life that was completely opposite of the one I had lived.
All of the lies made it difficult to have any real meaningful relationships. Lies create barriers, and I longed to be loved. This caused me to put myself in dangerous situations later in life under the influence of alcohol. In September of 2002 I made a decision to get help from a mental health therapist and to stop drinking alcohol to numb myself. For the first time I was able to tell an adult what had happened to me so long before. This was not an easy process, and it took a great number of months for that therapist to gain my trust. I began to thrive as a woman and a mother. I went back to school, earning my High School Diploma, Associates Degree in General Studies and finally accomplished getting a Bachelor’s in Psychology.
My heart longed to know where that boy had gone, what state he lived in, and whether he was safe, and loved unconditionally. By incredible circumstance I was able to meet that son when he was 26-years-old, and we had a deep mutual expression of respect, love, honesty, kindness and understanding relationship for fourteen years. Unfortunately, he had addictions to substances, which contributed to him losing his life to suicide in May of 2018. I found myself in despair, and sought help again from a mental health therapist. She offered space to grieve, and discuss things I had never talked about before. I have felt unequivocal validation from my therapist which has helped me in my healing journey. It’s an affirmation that helps validate my feelings and perceptions of that most repulsive time in my life.
Perhaps you also relinquished your parental rights. Maybe you never wanted to meet your child, or maybe you have longed to. Maybe your family made the choice for you to have an abortion, or maybe you raised your child. Our individual stories are unique and complex, and I would love to hear about your journey.
The purpose of this site is to foster resilience through this shared experience/healing journey. I hope this can be a place to emphasize our assets, strengths, and successes. A place to share our limitations, shame, sadness, social isolation, boundary setting, self-perceptions, substance use histories, overcompensation, and memory loss. A place to share the minimization and ignored pleas from family or negative family responses following disclosure of incest.
We can do this together.
