A few years ago, my son was doing some introspection and came to me, worried about what kind of evil might be lurking within, afraid of who he might become. In an inspired parenting moment, without hesitation, I said, "Oh, Son, there's nothing inside of you that you need to fear." That declaration has come back to me over and over since then. I think my pre-emptive acceptance has been pivotal for his happiness and self-love. I know the concept has changed my whole life.
If what I was saying was true, if there really was nothing inside of me to fear, then I should be able to look within. My son had been facing shame and found courage in my words. I had uttered the words, and had to test it. If there was something too dark and shameful to be acceptable, then I needed to find out. By my own mouth, I had chosen a course, accept myself or give up on myself, once and for all.
Life is complicated as it is. My story is not easy to tell. At 16, I thought of little else besides survival. When my dad killed Sandy, I remember feeling like my life was over, like, even if I survived, I would never really be an acceptable member of the human race. How could anyone helplessly watch while a helpless woman is murdered? I heard the black and white thinking and harsh judgments of the people in this world. We humans are quick to judge and can quite easily dismiss others as evil. I assumed I would be dismissed or dispatched by the whole world if these secrets were ever exposed. Life went on. I "put it behind me." That toxic shame slowly faded into the background, or so I thought.
At 30, I moved across the country and began to have nightmares which forced me to think about Sandy for the first time in years. Maybe the distance away from my dad allowed me to start opening up to myself. Not surprisingly, this didn't happen with happy self-awareness and joyful discoveries of my survival strength. She would be sitting in the living room, staring at me, and then gone as soon as I took a second look. I would go to work and get on with my day like nothing had ever happened. Unable to consciously face these memories, I started acting out my feelings in self-destructive ways, picking up hookers and having emotional and sexual affairs with women I knew from church. If not for that whole mess, I might never have sought this kind of self-awareness. Because of my denial, the flashbacks were always a complete surprise. It's no wonder I can barely write about her today.
After Dad died in 2006, my world began to unravel. Suddenly, I was alone with my thoughts and feelings. The shame reared its ugly head. For a couple of years I went to therapy and wavered between trying to figure out how to interact with people (a seemingly brand new task) and hiding in my closet, plotting my own end. I cried, I shook, I sat with my anger, pain, and shame.
By 2009, I was well past that dark place and beginning to have hope for the future. I had spoken to several therapists and a couple of attorneys about Sandy's death and my long held secrecy. Everyone said to forget it and move on. My own war on shame finally drove me to go forward, despite any potential consequences. I'm thankful I was not tried as an accessory to murder, but I had no assurances going in. Ultimately, going forward did for me what I had expected. Breaking my silence allowed me to see myself as a member of the human race. The secret no longer held sway over my sense of self.
I'm still battling my own demons. The consensus among my mental health professionals seems to be that, given my history, I ought to be in a padded cell, wearing a strait jacket, heavily medicated, and that 24/7.
Eh, I guess there's something to that, but life is complicated. My life included some horrific stuff, but there was more to it than that. How did I survive? I just kept moving forward, day by day, yes, but how?
I'm glad I've come forward. I try to understand the questions I've received about my years of silence. At first, I was angry and defensive. Today, I can talk about any of it, I think. My childhood almost destroyed me, but, as an adult, facing myself in the mirror and doing the hard emotional work of healing have taught me that I'm stronger than I thought.
Today, I have come to accept myself more than ever before. From not being able to identify myself to seeing and feeling good about who I am, telling my story to the world has set me free. I may still be in what feels like mental prison, a haunted, surreal prison, but we the inmates of Sam's head have more light, better communication skills, and even a developing sense of purpose for a better life and world. Prisoners need hope. Shame keeps us stuck in hopelessness. If I could pass on one message in life, this would be it: There's nothing inside of us that we need to fear.
Opening up has been hard, really hard. If I could just take a few years of beatings instead, that would be easier, but the failure-tested confidence that I'm a perfectly good me has been worth the price. I've done more than find out if people would understand and accept me. I've discovered how much we're all alike, to a degree that I never imagined. I belong, here, with all of you. If everyone knew everything about you, what's happened, what you've done, and what's been done to you, wouldn't we all understand and view you with compassion and love? Of course, we can't easily understand everything, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Please give it to me, and please give it to yourself. Thanks for keeping me writing.
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