Wrestling with Questions
By Anonymous
What does it mean to be an abuse survivor and a Christian?
I’ve had good cause to wonder about this.
I am a survivor of emotional abuse. During the brief relationship I had with a young Christian man who went to my church, I was emotionally and mentally assaulted on an almost daily basis and told that I was bringing it on myself with my “crazy” behavior. By the time our relationship ended, I didn’t know down from up anymore. My entire sense of self was nearly obliterated by means of his chronic degradations. My entire reality was destabilized by him telling me that most of what I believed or experienced was wrong. What was worse, because he had endeavored to keep our relationship a “secret”, very few people knew we had even been together, let alone what he had done. I didn’t even understand the reality of what had been done to me until months later, and I had to resort to therapy in order to deal with the post traumatic stress disorder and hypervigilance that was interfering with my behavior every day. To make matters worse, going back to that church was not an option for me at the time. I felt at the time (and I still do) that it is not safe for me to be where he is, and opening myself up to the ridicule, blame, and disbelief that I felt I would experience from him and members of my church by exposing his abuse is simply not something I can face. I cannot even live in the same town right now; I live elsewhere.
I have been lucky enough to find a church family that affirms me where I am now. Therapy helps me to regain power over myself; as I do so, my need for vengeance against him diminishes. Forgiveness remains an open question, one I am amenable to in the future, but is simply not possible now. Kindly meant remarks such as “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” and “Well, why didn’t you leave him?” serve to fuel my rage. God sure as hell didn’t give this to me. Furthermore, blaming the victim for being unable to understand or combat the violence that was inflicted on her or him remains counterproductive at best, outright cruel at worst.
I wonder what it means to be the body of Christ when abuse has happened within it. What was done to me was justified by him with crude moralistic weapons. It was compounded when certain people I trusted treated me like I must have done something to deserve it. Neither of these has anything to do with Jesus or his teachings; quite the opposite, in fact. Yet I find time after time that Christians, including people that I cared for and trusted in my church community, still hold these anti-Christian attitudes. Hence my fear, which in one sense is unfounded (for maybe I am not giving them enough credit) and in another sense is very much based in reality. I’ve seen what happens to women who accuse famous men of rape in the media. I’d rather not have something similar play out in my own life.
What does it mean to be a woman in the church? What does it mean to be silent about violence perpetrated within the church? There is no doubt in my mind that Christ is by my side, weeping tears with me, gently bringing every new healing into creation, holding me up when I feel I cannot go on. I am not so trustful of his followers. Something about having the most fragile parts of you violated makes you wary of trusting people again. My own mother could barely believe that this happened to me. In the early days of understanding, trying to sort through what had really happened, one of my classmates said, “It could happen to anyone. You’re not alone.” I am not alone. What does that mean for me? What does that mean for the church?
What does reconciliation mean?
I don’t know the answers to these questions. I know that my Creator came to destroy a system that is so firmly entrenched that even today, with all our so-called progress, survivors are afraid to speak up. I know that it is only in Christ that I will be healed and become whole again.
