A Dawning Realisation - historic abuse

[aSmallPersonFarAway]

This sounds like such an old familiar story.
Yesterday, when remembering this experience, I suddenly realised how I'd been assaulted and couldn't go to help from my parents.
It was 40 years ago. I was 14, a small, shy girl. I had a summer job babysitting 3 little boys. Their mother lived with her boyfriend, who was at least 20 years older than me. We'll call him Mike, because although I could remember his name yesterday, I can't now.
I looked after the boys every week day. Mike got home from work before the boy's mum. I had only just started the job, a week in, when Mike started trying to get me to kiss him. He'd corner me alone in the house and start kissing me and trying to grope me. He was insistent rather than aggressive, if you get what I mean. I didn't want any of this, he scared me and seemed ancient. He was probably not yet 40.
I felt like it was cheating on his girlfriend, and I just didn't want it. He'd send the boys out the the shop for sweets, usually intercepting them in the garden. I felt totally outsmarted.
I didn't know what to do. I thought if I told the mum she'd think I was complicit. Why didn't I tell my parents?
Just before this started I'd been on a shopping trip in a nearby town. In one shop I'd tried on an outfit, didn't like it and put it back. As I went down stairs the upstairs shop assistant leaned over the banisters and started shouting "stop her, stop her". Everyone looked round, including me and to my horror I realised it was me she was shouting about. She ran down the stairs, snatched my bags from me and started going through them, in front of interested onlookers. Of course I hadn't stolen anything, so she returned the bags. I was polite and co-operative, although I was clueless as to why she thought I was a thief.
Anyway, when I got home I told my parents. I had some idea they might return to the shop with me and make a complaint about my treatment. It was horrible, they turned on me, saying "You must have done something" and went on accusing and blaming, despite my denials.
So when Mike was having his predatory fun with a shy little schoolgirl, I knew there was no point going to my parents for help. I was convinced they'd say "You must have done something" and it would all be my fault again.
Sometimes my heart aches for the younger me.

That is a sad story - more so because the attitude of your parents meant you didn't feel able to tell them.

I've been going through a difficult time recently and this whole experience just came back to me. R4 played a Rolf Harris sketch, amusingly centred around the abuse of a 13 year old girl by a much older man. Think it just triggered things for me.
Back then it was an accepted part of the culture for women and girls to be preyed on by men.
But my parent's lack of care.....that did the real long lasting damage. I clearly remember several key times where instead of helping me they did the opposite. WTF were they thinking?
OH and i always emphasised to our kids that wherever they were, if they needed help, call us. Only one did. She was 17, called us from a boyfriend's house and asked us to pick her up. Bit of a drive, but we did. I never wanted my children to feel they were trapped or had nowhere to go for help.

Chatting this through with a counsellor might be helpful for you. I had a similar experience as a teenager - more than once in fact - and it was routinely brushed off. I didn't bother telling anyone - there seemed no point. My friends all thought it was kind of cool and exciting. I was just terrified :( they mostly had their own stories to tell.

One of them, I convinced myself I loved, but he was a 22 year old preying on a 15 year old girl. it was wrong and I only understand that now as a 41 year old woman.

You need to forgive the child that you were.

Oh I'm not angry with me. But sad at not being cared for (more to this). I can see how these kinds of experiences set me up for later abusive relationships.
Counselling has helped, partly by my counsellor validating my feelings.

Hi there, I namechanged so I can say this. I totally identify with you and I'm glad you shared this. When I was 13 yrs old my family lived in Istanbul and I was systematically groped in the streets almost every day on my way home from school. Being brought up a very modest catholic type, it took me absolutely ages to tell my parents. I just couldn't think of any words I could possibly use to describe what was happening on an almost daily basis. I also told myself that it was my fault if I couldn't tell them, cos how on earth could they guess what was happening. So one day I summoned up all my courage after a particularly frightening attack when I actually feared for my safety. But I used a euphemism to tell my mother what it was. I thought, at least now she'll tell my father and he will agree that I can be driven to and from school like my sisters (who were enrolled in a different place -- would have needed a slight change of route and family routine to get me in the car).

Yet, my mother did nothing. So I thought, my fault again, silly me, I hadn't been graphic enough about the things that were being done to me. And I resigned myself to my daily travails because no way could I have used the word "breasts", "bottom" or the term "between the legs" with my parents.

Then one day I was attacked whilst my father was with me. I had never been touched by anyone when walking with my father before you'd have thought most of the men would not have dared. But the attack came from behind an upwards karate chop between the legs that had such force that it lifted me off the ground. I was horrified, totally burned up inside with shame, but I thought, at least NOW my father will realise what is happening and everything will be fine. I won't even have to talk about it.

But my father didn't even turn to look at me. He must have KNOWN more or less what had happened as he was holding my hand at the time and felt me go up and come down again I kind of used his hand for balance as I came down. So I said to him, Daddy, I have just had my bottom pinched (the most I could manage not quite accurate, but I thought he would get the idea). He laughed, said "Did you? Snigger snigger", and left it at that.

I must say I really hate thinking about those times and particularly that moment. It really hurts to think how I struggled to bring the subject up twice, and how my embarrassment in doing so was completely wasted. I still cringe to think about it.

I am so sorry for what happened to you. I am about the same age as you -- all this happened 36 years ago. My father is VERY old and about 90% gone to alzheimers and I still CANNOT let it go. He will die one day and I will yet again blame myself for not dealing with it and not properly forgiving him.

Hugs from a fellow sufferer

Thank-you mynewusername. I name changed too. One of my daughters knows who I am on here and I'd hate her to know her beloved grandparents behaved in some of the ways they did.
I'm not surprised you can't let it go, it must have been a lengthy ordeal of fear and shame. Unjustified shame of course.
Some things my parents did I put down to "of their time". But it isn't actually "of their time" to be so unapproachable and blaming.
It took until I was a mature adult to look back at these things and realise I hadn't walked like a thief or cunningly tempted an older man to molest me. Nor had I done anything to cause my parents to be (on the whole) uncaring.
It wasn't me, it said nothing about me.

Oh Small

Thank you for the lovely flowers, Trooperslane.
I just needed to say this, I felt shocked when I properly realised Mike was a predatory sleazy man.

Hi asmallperson and mynewusername

Your stories stung the back of my throat. The use of the word 'shame'. The taking on of what should have been your attackers guilt. The uselessness of parents.

A few people have said that I need to make peace with my sick father, but like you mynew - making peace is something where you have to be met half way and that involves the father/parent offering some sort of apology or acknowledgment that they didn't protect you. In your case where you know your instincts are right yet you've been brought up not to believe in those instincts - it's very likely your father did know what was being done to you and CHOSE to do nothing. The shame should be his.

My parents were both Catholics - my father a prurient man, who regularly referred to women as 'tarts', 'whores' and 'slags'. My mother, I remember once told me to be 'more affectionate' to my dad as I shied away from him as a little girl. I'm almost certain he never touched me, but at a young age, I hated his smell. I can remember him getting into bed and cuddling me but absolutely nothing else (I was five) and if the memory was going to surface it would have done so by now - surely. But as my sister and I grew he would make remarks about our bodies, our 'tits' and 'arses' and mum didn't stop him. At one point she was openly reading a book when I was 14 called - Father/Daughter Rape. Unbelievable. I don't know what that was about - except at the time I had a huge crush on my English teacher. At a school disco, my teacher assaulted me. I didn't tell my parents because I thought it was all my fault. Two weeks later my teacher came round to see my parents - I think to establish that he was a caring teacher only concerned with my academic progress. My parents never spoke to me after about what was going on except for my mother to say: 'Don't go and get yourself raped.' So I received all these messages from my dad about being 'whorish' and 'dirty'. Two years later on holiday I was assaulted again on a beach by a Maltese waiter. He pushed me to the ground and was trying to get inside me when I screamed and raked his face. I ran off screaming and ran straight into my dad. I told him what had happened and he laughed. The man ran off. I begged him to go to the police but he said it would 'waste a day.'

Sorry I didn't mean to go on for so long. smallperson I think you're amazing for protecting the image of your father for your own children. I can't do that. My mother was a very good grandmother but she died two years ago, and while my sister and I make sure dad has good care, I feel nothing for him. He like the sentimental old bully he is, realises that we are all he has left and has become very 'cuddlesome' when I go to see him. I refuse to let him touch me. I've tried to quietly explain many times why I find his attitude to women so upsetting but he just says 'sorry dear' which means nothing. I stopped taking my daughter to see him when he referred to Dawn French on the television as a 'fat cunt'. My daughter looked shocked and I told him to explain why he'd said that. Dad put on a 'naughty boy caught out' expression and I felt my insides harden to cold disgust.

whatdoesittake is right - you were a child. You needed your parents to survive. It was not your fault in any way shape or form. HUGS
xxxxx

It makes me so angry. Angry that men can do this to children and young adults; and angry tht adults who MUST KNOW what is happening, just laugh it off.

After I was thrown out of the house in the middle of the night, with my few weeks old baby, by my drunken husband I went to my parents for help.
My dad told me I'd made my bed, I had to lie on it. My mum told me it was my fault for "thinking with my fanny".
This is the woman, who when I asked her for help getting away from scary drunken boyfriend had said"You can't do that to him". So I stayed and later married him.
Always minimising and blaming.
He is my ex-drunken husband btw, but when I left, many years later, I got blamed for that too.
Just getting this crap out of my system today.

Why, why do parents do this? Why can they not be PARENTS for fuck sake?

Asmallperson I'm sorry you drew the mega-short straw when it came to parents. But look. You are not them. You are not your parents. You sound nothing like them. You have broken the chain which is one of the hardest things to do and you are self-aware. Your girls will not grow up in the same way.

I think that certain feeling are sometimes triggered by an event that in some way mirrors some aspects of the earlier treatment or feelings. In any case, some counselling for you might be helpful. Or keeping a journal? xx

Oh god, ginger. So very sorry. I can see your Dad right now -- mine is very good at that false-sheepish look too.

Don't apologise for going on. I went on longer, and I re-read myself before posting. Thinking -- is it right to pile in on FarAway's feelings and compound them with your own.

But I'm sure it's fine and here's some flowers (if I could find the emoticon) and cake... to us all!!

keep letting off, FarAway. There's loads to offload there. My parents weren't bad in all areas, they were just rubbish at anything to do with growing up and sex and religion.

Thank GOODNESS my mother never told me I deserved this or that for thinking with my fanny. Unbelievable. How stupid and cruel.

I think you're spot on gingermum. I've been going through a v difficult time, and that together with the Rolf Harris stuff (for some reason, I haven't even been following it) triggered off some memories, feelings and realisations.

Mynewusername, please feel free to "pile in", didn't compound my feelings, kind of validated them.

Lois, exactly, why? Ffs?

My parents could be outrageously bad parents, yet most people seemed to respect them. There were a few key people who saw certain things and were shocked. Looking back, I can see how they tried to help, one neighbour sewed my sister a pretty dress for a special occasion ( my mum could sew for England, if she chose).
Same woman told me that my Dad's outburst of anger at me, for something I plainly hadn't done, had horrified her and her husband. It was a relief, I'd thought I was going mad. I was about 15, my sister had played a prank on me, changed the key on my key ring so I couldn't unlock the door. I was fumbling around trying to unlock the door when my dad ripped the door open and exploded with rage. I was trying to explain what I thought had happened, it was only about 8 at night, ffs. Yet he was in a petrifying, towering rage. The neighbours sat in white faced horror.

Yet in later years, the legend is no-one could want a better, kinder dad/grandad. I'm not sure how that happened. Mums dead and dad has severe dementia. My sister hasn't seen him for years.

I know their behaviour has constantly tripped me up and hobbled me as an adult. This stuff gets so engrained, even when you're aware of it it keeps doing its work.

Vent, vent, vent. Thanks for listening.

I remember being about 10 years old and a man in a parked car called me over. I thought he wanted directions as he had a map on his lap. When I got to the window, he removed the map and showed me a graphically pornographic picture. I ran back home, crying, and my mother said "I should have known something like that would happen to someone like you". I still burn with the injustice of it.

to you all.

Did it feel like injustice at the time?
I had a kind of double feeling -this isn't fair / I did something to bring it on myself.

Well, I was brought up a catholic, so we were all taught to feel guilty from an early age, but I think at the time I knew I hadn't done anything to warrant such an approach, and particularly remember how unfair my mother's response had been. Long, long time ago.

This is such sad reading. So sorry for all your experiences, its so common its terrifying. Since Saville I've had lots of memories from my teens that I with hindsight feel disturbed by.

• being followed through our local woods then flashed at by a masturbating man.
• uncle sticking his tongue in my mouth on NYE in full sight of family when I was 11.
• my next door neighbour giving me a lift home from town one day then locking me in his car and asking if i would let him take photographs of me sometime, I was 17 (I was very confused what he meant at the time, but looking back he was a total sleaze).
• working in a supermarket at 16 and my boss blocking my way out of the big chiller freezer until I agreed to go on a date with him (I wish I'd reported that behaviour as he went on to get a very young coworker pregnant and left her as soon as he found out).
• waitressing job at 14 at a local restaurant and a very old waiter (70's) repeatedly sticking his hand up my skirt.

There are others too and even though the worst is inappropriate touching, they really affected me. I remember feeling so ashamed and threatened at the time but it didn't really cross my mind that I had any power to do anything about it, I just accepted it.

Speechless, justtherightbullets. So sorry too that you were spoken to like that.

Whattodowithit the toxic Catholic legacy is important. As women we learn from an early age that there are only two types of women - the virgin mother and the repentant whore (Mary Magdalene). Also those deeply disturbed female saints who would spend their lives in masochistic misery, apologising for being female, starving themselves.

Bullets my mother used to say 'get yourself raped' too.

Apple your experiences were just horrible and I'm so sorry. Did your family just turn this assault by your uncle into a joke? Have you ever been able to talk to them about it or do they pretend not to remember? 'Ashamed and threatened' - exactly.

I think the worst things for me when growing up was the idea that I somehow had no right to reject nasty entitled men, that if a man groped me or made vile remarks I was supposed to find it 'flattering'. And being brought up Catholic also meant that I had somehow invited it.

Some men are still unpleasantly entitled but I deal with it differently now. A male acquaintance of mine was moaning that the woman he had been out on a date with hadn't responded to his five texts the day after. The woman was 38 and this man was in his mid sixties and frankly resembled a tubby weasel with brown teeth. (Form an orderly queue ladies). I suggested that five texts when he'd heard nothing from her was 'a bit stalky'. He said that she was probably just being a 'tease'.

I looked him dead in the eye and said: 'Or maybe she just doesn't fancy you.' This ugly, droopy, charmless man looked utterly shocked at the idea.