Scars

So I recently fractured my thumb.  It was a ridiculous accident.  I was playing air hockey and, intent on winning, accidentally smacked my thumb on the edge of the table.  That was it.  But as you can see in the xray that little thing caused a small section of bone to fracture off the base of my top thumb bone.  It's a small thing but has been quite debilitating.  Eight weeks on, I still have some pain, some weird nerve stuff, decreased movement.  I'm still in fortnightly physio.  I still can't use it to turn the keys in the ignition.

And although I was somewhat surprised that I'd managed to break it so easily, that wasn't the biggest surprise for me in this xray.  I have circled the interesting thing.  Another fracture.  A fracture that has healed very well over time and causes me no problems.  But I never had an xray when that fracture happened.  I know it didn't happen in my adulthood as I've been damned good at having things xrayed when I've suspected injury.  And being someone who isn't super coordinated there have been a few.  But this is the first one I've taken the time to look at myself.

I remember how this fracture happened.  At least I'm pretty sure this is how it happened.  Unless it happened when I was very small where my memories are patchy.  I'm pretty sure it happened the only time I can remember thinking I'd broken my finger.

It was after school.  A girl a few years younger than me asked me to help her regarding someone who was bullying her (her brother).  So I had a chat with him in the classroom.  The chairs had been put up on the tables ready for the cleaner.  He threw one at me*.  I put my hands up to protect my face and it hit my right hand.  My finger hurt and had a lump sticking out the side.  Not wanting him to see that it hurt, I didn't cry.  Instead, I pointed my weird looking finger at him and chased him.  He ran away.

Now I know this happened.  I remember this happening.  But I never told my parents that this happened.  I may have taped them together myself - it seems like something a 12 year old me might have done - but maybe I didn't.  Maybe I didn't want to draw attention to my injury.  Whatever I did I didn't tell a single adult about what had happened.  I didn't seek medical help.  I just kept on trucking.

Here's me dressed up for Halloween aged 9ish
in our kitchen in South Head              

This probably seems crazy to most people so I'm going to break it down into two parts.  This is the first part.  It's the easy and logical part - the believable part.  And that part is that we were poor.  We mostly lived in very isolated places - at times more than an hour from even a dairy or petrol station.  We hardly ever sought medical support because we simply could not go.  We could not afford the petrol to get there let alone the medical fees.  Since he was little my brother has been prone to skin infections**.  At one point he had some awful ones on his back.  Dad lanced them with a hot poker in our dining room.  I once got a 2cmish piece of bark stuck in my foot from running the inter-school cross-country barefoot.  I had seen the medic at the event and they had diagnosed a cut filled with dirt and put a sticking plaster on it.  Back home, Dad cut open my foot to extract the bark.  It hurt like hell.  While home surgery was generally as sterile as home surgery can get, it was never accompanied by pain relief.

Now this is the second part.  This is the hard part, the part I've always struggled to talk about in a way it can be made sense of because we're discouraged to talk about these things.  This part is that I was afraid.  I was afraid that if I told my parents what had happened I would get in trouble for 'fighting'.  As a girl in an at times*** extremist Christian household, this kind of behaviour was certainly not deemed to be ladylike.  And I was afraid of creating another problem in a home that already had enough problems.  And I felt this way because I lived with someone who gave me good reason to be afraid.

This is hard to write.  Even harder to publish hence the revisit since the first draft about five months ago.  It's hard because I have always tried to protect the people that were part of my childhood, that are still living and still part of my life.  But I know this silence is exactly what perpetuates family violence issues.  And in Aotearoa, family violence is a big problem and big reality for many of us.  Here, in about half of all homicides the offender is a family member.  And one in three women will experience physical or sexual violence perpetrated by an intimate partner.  There's plenty more awful stats which you can read for yourself here.  And while some people are not safely positioned to talk about what's happened, I am hoping I am not one of those people.  As such, I feel it's important I try and articulate aspects of my experience so that those not living with family violence can gain some kind of understanding.  And so that those living with it feel less alone.

The second part is that I was afraid of my Dad.  Growing up, my home was not a safe space to be injured in, not a safe place to be sick in and definitely not a safe space to speak up or disagree.

When I was about eleven he beat our puppy so badly he broke its leg.  He beat it because it was howling at night.  Because it had been put outside alone in the kennel.  Because it was not used to sleeping alone because it was just a baby not long weaned from its mother.  And in the morning when he realised how badly he'd injured it, he shot it.  He put it out of it's misery.  He never said this, but I'm sure it was because he was ashamed of what he'd done.  He told us it was because we couldn't afford to take it to the vet.  This was equally true.

I was afraid of my father because his behaviour was erratic.  Because sometimes he could be patient.  Because sometimes he answered my questions about the world as honestly as he could.  But other times I was expected to maintain complete silence - to be seen and not heard.  Because he taught me that a woman's place was in the home, but I was still expected to go and work on the farm.  And once, when I questioned this imbalance regarding washing dishes, he threw his cutlery at me.

I was afraid of my father because he threatened us.  He threatened to take my brother and I away from our mother to Australia.  Sometimes he threatened to kill my mother.  He threatened to kill us all and himself afterward.  I was small when he first said these things - but he was still saying them when I was fourteen years old, and I still believed him.  I was afraid of my father because he was so charismatic that many, many people in our local community sang his praises.  Because my mother voluntarily went back to him after fighting so hard to get away.  Because I didn't understand what this magical power he had was, and why it seemed to work on everyone but me.  Because I knew if I told, no-one would believe me.  Growing up, I felt afraid and very, very alone.
          

*            *            *           *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *

My thumb is completely healed now.  Sometimes it hurts a bit, but by 12 weeks my flexibility and strength were basically as good as new.  The finger that I broke also healed completely fine.  On the xray I can see it has healed in place with the slight calcification on the outside you'd expect from a simple fracture.

I'm not missing that giant thumb splint!

I have told the story of how I broke my thumb to countless people - customers at work, friends, whanau, people on the street.  I had never told anyone how I broke my finger until I checked in with Mum before writing this post.  Bones can knit.  And muscles can regain their lost capacity.  Through physio.  Through witnessing progress in movement, through gaining strength as time passes.

When we don't talk about our other scars, we don't allow them to heal cleanly.

We all have scars.  Whether physical or emotional we all have them.  Our lives, and the lives of those who shape us, are imperfect and we cannot change our past.  For those of us who have scars like mine, scars that impact how our synapses form as toddlers, scars that change us markedly from our unscathed peers, it is so important that we talk about them.  That we acknowledge that pain and loss.  That we treat them more like we would a fracture, we diagnose, triage and physio them.

And hopefully by talking about our scars, we can prevent future injuries.

* This incident doesn't even rank in the worst bullying/physically violent things that happened to me whilst at school.

** He still is.  He can literally scrape his knuckles on something and it'll be red and infected with lines going up his arm the next day.

*** I am very certain that Dad had undiagnosed bipolar.  While he had grown up in a Christian household, we were not a church going, Bible thumping family.  He would go off on religious benders.  At those times, simple things like me cutting my hair into a short bob were considered major breaches.  I was 'unfeminine' and short hair on a woman 'went against God'.  He wasn't like this all the time.  Religious mania or Messiah complex are commonly experienced during bipolar episodes.

On Life After Incest

TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual Assault/Incest  
Please, if you choose to read this and feel you need some support phone Victim Support on 0800 842 846 or if in Auckland the HELP foundation crisis line on 09 623 1700

I write this in the hopes that in creating dialogue around this issue I can in a small way make it easier to talk about incestuous sexual abuse.  I write from the position of having family live through this, and it directly impacting on relationships within my family at the present time.  Incestuous abuse has affected many people within my wider family and there has been more than one perpetrator.  While I write this with one person in mind (I had her read this before I posted it), I write with all those people affected in my heart and I am sure there are more of you than I know.  I write from a place of love and sadness.  I write because I have hope.

Not just for my own family, but the many other families who live with this.  Because there are many.  Incest is not uncommon here in NZ, so it feels wrong that we don't talk about it.  One study of 3,000 Kiwi women showed that 1 in 8 women experience incest during their lifetime, which is about 12%*.  This may seem high, but given that in New Zealand we have the 5th worst child abuse record in the OECD, high rates of sexual assault (1 in 5) and extremely high rates of domestic and intimate violence rates (1 in 3) I think it may be even higher.

And we don't talk about it.

While we have the #metoo movement empowering those who have experienced sexual assault to speak out about their experiences, how many of those relate to incest?  Very few.  And while it is fantastic that people are finding their voices through this movement, for those who have experienced incest I can only imagine it makes them feel even more invisible and further alienated in their experience**.  And it saddens me because it is such a common experience.  So the truth is, victims are incest are far from alone in their experiences, yet can still feel so isolated.

In 2017 we elected the highest number of women MP's in NZ history; 46 women.  Of that number, statistically 6 of them will have experienced incest.  2,436,790(ish) women live in New Zealand, of that number 292,415(ish) will have experienced incest.  And those numbers do not include the many boys and men that also experience incest.  And those are not just arbitrary numbers, they represent real human lives.  Think about how many women there are in your family and do the math.

We don't talk about it, but it effects a great deal of us.

For those who live with the experience of incest the impact can be huge.  Associated issues include:***

• Problems with close relationships
• Depression
• Self-destructive behaviours
• Difficulty/fears around parenting
• Issues with sex
• Chronic pain/health issues 

Imagine living with this, living with the associated issues and not telling anyone?  Imagine how lonely and scary that might feel?

Why we don't talk about it isn't difficult to guess.  Shame and fear.  When someone close to you hurts you like this you wonder why they did it.  What did you do to bring this on yourself?  The perpetrator will often tell the victim that for whatever reason, the abuse is their fault.  For victims of incest, the fear is completely rational.  Telling someone can hugely impact every aspect of your life.  What happens when the abuser lives with you?  What happens if your abuser is your caregiver?  What will I lose if I tell someone?  What will happen if no-one believes me?  In speaking up, victims of incest stand to lose a lot.  Telling someone can feel like a huge gamble.

I am writing this because someone in my family gambled on telling us.

There is no need to go into specifics over the many abuses she has survived.  All I will say is that the abuse happened for years over her childhood and beyond and it was violent.  The reason it has only come out recently is because she (like many other victims of sexual assault) had repressed memories that started surfacing.  The impact on her life has been huge.  She cannot remember a time in her life before she was abused.  As a consequence, she is neurologically wired differently to those who grow up with healthy childhoods****.

There were a lot of signs that something was wrong, but we missed them.

So what happened when her abuse was finally revealed?  Suppression.  Minimisation.  Interrogation.  Thinly veiled disbelief.  Fear of the family being 'outed', fear of what others would think.  After years of keeping this to herself and her partner, when she finally did talk she was told to keep it to herself until her revelation could be 'managed'.  Her wider family did not learn of this until well over a year after she first told her parents.  Another lonely year.  Once her closer family members were told she gained some support, but not without cost.  And once the larger family were told what came about was anger, blame and abuse.

And amongst all this the craziest thing that happened was that none of the extended family***** reached out to her.  No-one called to say 'I'm sorry this happened to you, how can I help?'  No-one.  I cannot speak for how this must have felt for her, but for me it broke the illusion that our family was close.  Would they do the same if it were me?  Would my truth be met with silence?  Unlike many other families my extended family comes together regularly to celebrate.  So why is it that we couldn't come together to help when we learned one of us had suffered so much for so long?  I have waited in hope that this would change, but it hasn't.

I can only give an educated guess as to why this is.  My guess is that her parents response has set the tone for how others in the family respond.  I guess that this is something people don't know how to approach so they don't approach it at all, or that they feel it is not their place.  I know how difficult it is for many to believe they have spent so much time with the abuser and had no idea he was doing this.  I have faced this disbelief regarding my own history.  I know these things can be easier not to believe.  If the abuse never happened then there is no need to question our ability to judge the morality of others.  Then we don't feel guilty for 'letting' the abuse happen or stupid for not realising it could.  It is easier to blame the victim than to hold the abuser to account for their actions.  It is easier to pretend it never happened.

My current family situation reminds me of The Beach by Alex Garland; what will people sacrifice to continue living in 'paradise?'  What will they give up to maintain the status quo?

And this probably sounds like my family are terrible people.  But they are just regular people.  This response is very common.  It is awful, but it is normal and I think this is because so many of us are taught to value public perception over reality.  To value keeping things 'in the family.'  To say nothing, if we have nothing nice to say.  We are taught not to talk about this stuff and in not talking we allow the abuse to continue.  In this, our family is not unique and this is just so sad.

It's a cycle.  As a consequence of valuing family ties over honesty, victims are alienated and disempowered.  Abusers are free to continue on in their lives without consequence.  Society continues to support abusers and alienate victims therefore abuse can continue unchecked and violence begets violence.  I don't believe any well person wakes up one morning and just decides 'Hey!  I think I'm going to rape someone today.'  I believe getting to this point is a gradual process of unhealthy behaviours going largely unhindered and is aided by how women are treated by society.  And males who are abused by relatives in childhood are more likely to become abusers.  Abuse begets abuse.

So when we don't talk about incest, when we shut down conversations about incest, when we disbelieve victims of incest we perpetuate that cycle.  And this is not only in the worst interests of the victims, but the abusers too.  I have no doubt in my mind that most abusers feel as much guilt over their actions as their victims feel shame, and while there are many other factors involved, could this guilt also play a part in our high male suicide statistics?  I do not believe that all New Zealand's terrible statistics are islands unto themselves.  If we give abusers the opportunity to talk about what happened, the opportunity to make changes, the opportunity to raise their children differently, we may start to solve many other problems too.

While NZ is often touted as a pillar of Woman's Suffrage due to being the first to give women the vote******, our rates of incest, our domestic violence rates and our sexual violence rates (one of the top 5 in the OECD) tell a very different story of how women are treated here.  Because while these are issues for men too, the perpetrators of this violence are predominantly male and offending primarily against women.  And we have the capacity to change this.

So what can we do to prevent incest within our own families?

• Create a safe environment in which your children feel like they can trust you and talk to you freely.
• Teach your children about consent
• Teach your children the correct words for genitalia
• Know the signs of sexual abuse in children.  Read about them here.
• If you see any of these signs, talk to your kids about it.
• Get professional help and support if you need it

And what can we do if incest has happened within our own families?

• Believe the person who has been abused.  Remember that only 2 - 10% of victims of sexual assault falsely accuse the perpetrator.  That means that 90 - 98% of the time victims are telling the truth.
• Focus on the needs of the victim first.  What boundaries need to be in place to help them feel safe?  What can you do to ensure those boundaries are enforced?
• Make sure they have professional support.  For abuse of this type therapy is funded through ACC regardless of how long ago the abuse occurred.
• Make sure you have professional support yourself.
• Talk to the abuser and encourage them to get professional support.  Remember that many abusers have been abused themselves.
• If abuse is suspected to be ongoing, ensure your family is safe from further abuse.  It is possible to do this whilst still giving support to the victim and the abuser.

I for one do not want to maintain the status quo.  I want better for my family and my children.  Our silence leaves victims alone, and frees abusers to continue abusing.  There is no shame in being honest about abuse.

I am so proud of my family member for taking a gamble on speaking out.  I can only imagine how hard that was for her.  But in doing so, she is paving a way for all our children to grow up differently and she has my full support in this.  We have the capacity to change our statistics.  Silence is not the solution.

* To equate this to another statistic, this is the same reported rate as that which boys/men are sexually assaulted in New Zealand.

** There's a fantastic blog post about this here

*** Taken from the NZ Rape Prevention Education website

**** Just as I am.  I did an intensive Circle of Security parenting course because I have no idea how to be a 'normal' parent and raise healthy children.  All we can do is try and re-wire our brains using methodologies from psycho-therapy and the reality is that we will never 'get over it'.  We will never be 'fixed', all we can do is work on recovery and conscious acts of doing things differently for our children.

***** Besides my Mum and myself.  I think this is largely due to what we lived through, our understanding of how it feels to be a victim of abuse and what we have learned over years of therapy.


****** Sorry to burst your bubble here but that was mostly due to an attempt at getting prohibition through in NZ.  Kate Sheppard was a strong prohibitionist and a certain group of politicians believed if they allowed women to vote, Kate Sheppard's voice along other women's would aid in pushing through new laws prohibiting alcohol.  While women won the right to vote, they didn't vote for prohibition at that time as expected.  But this is why we got the vote so early, not because we value our women's rights, but due to drinking issues in the goldfields...