Motivation

Motivation

By Marie

Editor’s Note: In the fall of 2018, StoryCenter led a series of webinars sponsored by the National Sexual Violence Resource Center. We invited participants to share their own stories in writing. What follows is an especially powerful piece, shared to honor and support survivors everywhere during National Sexual Assault Awareness Month in April. You can watch all four webinar sessions on NSVRC’s Campus. You will need a free account to view the recordings. If you have questions about the Campus, or viewing the webinar recordings, please contact campusadmin@nsvrc.org.  

The relationship between a mother and daughter is one that gets a lot of attention. If most tension and drama between mothers and daughters can fit in a small, plastic sand pail, then what exists between my mother and me would need a five gallon bucket.

When I was thirteen, I was raped. Two days after my assault, I told my parents what had happened to me. My mother asked if I was okay. Then, she said, “You should go to confession.”

"For what?" I asked. 

"To ask for forgiveness," she answered.

My gut clenched, and tears fell from my eyes. I couldn't even respond. I couldn't scream at her or beg her to take it back. I just felt alone and empty.

Even though I didn't know it then, this interaction with her (and the many that have followed) is why I speak out about my story. My wanting others to feel supported stems from not feeling it from the person who could have been my biggest advocate.

As it turns out, my mother was haunted by her own shadows, which kept her from being able to love me like I needed during the first several years of my healing journey. When I was in high school, she confided in me that she had been victimized by her grandfather for years. My anger at her faded, as understanding dawned on me.

And it was my attack that brought her, eventually, to the realization that she needed to face her own past. Over the next few years, as she shared her experience, we found a place where we could meet each other without judgment. It wasn't easy, but under our bucket of tension, we do love each other. She is my mother. I am her daughter.

We decided that not talking about any of it was safest for us. So I didn't tell her about speaking out in college, educating my peers about what was then called date-rape. She stopped telling me what she and her therapist discussed. Decades later, we still don't talk about my rape, or about anything that relates to her childhood molestation.

Sometimes, when I think about the control that was stolen from my mother at such a young age, I want to hold her and mourn with her. But, that's not a place we can go. Sometimes, when I uncover a new scar or tenderness in my life based on what happened to me, I want to reach out to her. But, that's not a place we can go.

Every once in a while, I think about reaching out to her, but then I don't try, because I'm scared of losing our relationship completely. I'm afraid that we'll kick over the bucket of muck that exists between us, and we'll fight and cry and yell, and, in the end, one or both of us will walk away. Because we believe in things that are at odds. She's come to view women as untrustworthy and thinks they tend to lie about sexual assault. I believe the opposite.

So, I continue speaking out. Since I can't directly argue with her, I preach with passion—blogging, speaking, and supporting women and men who have been sexually assaulted, even though my mom thinks I'm standing up for people who mostly don't deserve it. Even if I can never reach her, I continue to reach out to other survivors and feel like I'm making the difference I'm meant to make. My mother’s silence and denial remind me to keep making it.

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Marie blogs and volunteers with fellow survivors of sexual assault, believing them and supporting their healing, as well as her own.

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