Alone

If you could describe your childhood in one word, what would it be? For me, it would be the word “alone.” Something struck me when I was meeting with my therapist this morning. For the first time in her presence, the tears started falling and it all became clear. “What are the tears for?,” she inquired. “I’m not sure if I can put it into words…I just know I want other people to know that they are not alone,” I responded. 

For years, I’ve been struggling to write songs - the rhythms and melodies are there, but the heart is missing. A part of me has been locked away. My spirit has been paralyzed. At times, I’ve been a phantom - distant, guarded and skeptical. I’ve learned that most people can’t comprehend the context of my world. My story reads like a Stephen King novel or a CSI drama. It is indeed…unbelievable. I’ve seen so many friendships turn awkward. “What if you’re wrong?,” they’ll ask. “There‘s been a lot of pain on both sides ,” they’ll interject, gently smearing the blame my way. Ironically, I’ve become the secret keeper - because I don’t want one other person to tell me I’m crazy, and above all, I don’t want to feel —- alone. 

Rejection has become commonplace. Two nieces were married. We weren’t invited. I became a great uncle about six months ago. I recently discovered a photo of my niece holding a baby. I had no idea. About a month ago, I called an aunt in Dayton. “How is my uncle doing after his surgery?,” I asked. “How did you find out?,” she sharply retorted. “We’re almost driving by your house next week…would you like us to stop and visit?” “No, not at this time,” was her response. Again, I was on the outside - a refugee - banished from the place I once called home.

This is what happens when truth is spoken and others don’t want to believe. My therapist sees it all the time. Families and communities turning against the individual who calls out his or her abuser. Churches who don’t want to hold leaders accountable. Often, parents of abused children don’t want to see things as they are - because it would require them to deal with their own childhood trauma. Sometimes, abuse victims normalize or downplay their nightmares - such as the rape victim who refers to her encounter as a “bad sexual experience.” The truth may set us free, but often the lies are more familiar and comforting. It hurts too much —- to go there.

“There‘s no way you’re wrong,” my therapist assured me, “Children don’t say such things on their own.” I’ll never forget the chill I felt when I heard my four year old utter those words - “You want to see my pee pee, little boy?” Where did he hear this phrase? We eventually discovered the source - and nearly six years later, we are still seeing the effects. He was an innocent little boy. How could my dad - the one I trusted - force those horrific images upon my precious son? Those portrayals of children and adults doing unimaginable things. How was this ok? How could my family be ok with this? “I sense a lot of anger in your heart,” my brother has often said. What am I supposed to feel? What am I allowed to feel? All along, I’ve been the villain for doing what any good dad would do - protect my child.

I understand that this post will be offensive for some. I imagine some readers are ready to tell me every reason I’m a terrible person for speaking up. I’ve heard it all before and today, I’m done with the image. As I told my therapist, God has put me here to help others know that they’re not alone. I imagine there are many friends out there who are dealing with the repercussions of secrecy - friends who feel as if no one could ever understand. For those of you who are listening - there are others who have walked in similar shoes. Above everything, God knows the truth. He isn’t afraid of the truth. Cry out to Him. It’s ok. And tell someone else. Your story matters and a world of lonely people need to hear it.