A Survivor of Abuse: Triggers

It's easier to look back now and and see the "signs" that abuse must have been a part of my past. Until those memories began to return I never would have guessed so many odd behaviors I couldn't explain were trying to tell me something.

I have two instances in my life that, knowing what I know now, should have been huge indicators. At the times I simply explained it away as being an empath - having an ability to feel what others feel.

The first time was in high school. I was taking a family education class (you know, the one where you get the fake baby, only we had plants...much quieter) and we had come to the section on child abuse. I sat through 45 minutes of pictures on how children had been inflicted with injuries by people who were supposed to love and take care of them. I saw pictures of water burns, cigarette burns, broken limbs, and other things I've blocked out. This was just day one.

By the time class was done I was so upset I spent the rest of the day in my room, hiding. I wouldn't even come out for dinner. My family knew what had upset me, but none of us knew why I was so upset. It must be my tender heart, we all said.

The next day I couldn't make myself go to the class. I was a straight A student who never missed school unless I was really sick. That was the first time in high school I purposely didn't go. I made my way across the street to our church's seminary building where instead of hearing about the evils forced on little children I was able to hear about the Savior and His love for us.

Skip forward many years. I now had three children. My boys were 2 and 4. One evening I received an email from someone close to me. It was one of those pass along emails we would get and then forward to those on our email lists (before social media). It was the story of a little 3 year old boy who was lured away from his mom by two others boys at a local store, and basically tortured then killed.

By the time I was done reading the horrific things that were done to this little one I was sobbing. I prayed and prayed the email wasn't true, but an Internet search proved it did happen several years before. In my mind the little boy would take on the face of my two boys and I could not make it go away.

The entire next day I tried my best to be normal, but then I would begin the uncontrollable sobbing again. My sweet husband called in the late morning and I tried to explain what had upset me but like the time in high school he couldn't understand why I was so upset. As I was supposed to be a part of an activity that night with some of our local teenagers, he willingly gave me a priesthood blessing. It immediately helped calm my mind, and I realize now the veil was placed back over my memories so I would not remember. It wasn't time yet.

While typing all of this out I have had one more memory come. I remember as a teenager reading a book called, "Secrets" written by Blaine M. Yorgason and Sunny Oaks. It was a novel involving all types of abuse coming out into the open. I hated that book, but I still have it. It felt wrong to get rid of it. I don't recall much of what was in it; another form of repression on my part. Maybe one day I'll feel strong enough to read it again.

After that email both my husband and I knew I couldn't handle anything that had to do with the abuse of children. I had to stop watching the news. Many of our favorite television shows were switched off if abuse was a topic. I knew this was a trigger for me, I just didn't fully understand why.