While I have always identified as being “pro-life,” I struggled with this belief silently for years. I logically understood and could clearly see that abortion ends a human life (all we have to do is open a biology text book to figure that one out), but I found the distressed plea of a mother who legitimately felt she could not bear a child compelling. In my head I could logically see how this thinking was flawed, but I struggled with it in my heart, much like I did with my own worth. And the two were intimately connected.
My biggest fear in life used to be that I was a burden to other people. I never wanted to cause problems or inconvenience others. If another was upset, I too often assumed it was because of something I did. When I was first sexually abused at age 12, I was convinced it was my fault. I thought I had done something wrong. The abuse only accentuated my fear of being a burden–how could I reveal what happened, and create the trouble that would come with it? I struggled for a long time to even call what happened “sexual abuse” because of this fear. But that’s exactly what it was–sexual abuse. My fear of being a burden is what led me to keep quiet about what was happening in my life as a teenager when I began to be abused by another man.
When I became a member of my university’s pro-life group my second semester of college, it hit me that abortion and sexual abuse are different forms of the same evil. They hold the same assumptions to justify their existence and accomplish similar ends; death on one hand, and abuse in another. A mother who only has an abortion because she feels it is her only option is certainly more sympathetic than a sexual predator, but the acts themselves communicate the same message: “You are less valuable than me, and disposable. I do not totally or genuinely love you, and you will suffer for me.”
If from our very conception, it is permissible to question whether or not someone’s existence is convenient, or worth protecting, what stops us from using someone at any stage of their lives for our own convenience or pleasure? Why are we worth protecting from any danger if life has no inherent value? Truly, if our lives have no value or meaning, there is no reason to protect them.
If you ever wondered what goes on at a pro-life group meeting, we spend a lot of time studying why abortion occurs and how to compellingly and compassionately explain the logical fallacies used to justify it in our culture. It was in this study that I realized the logical inconsistencies that were rooted in my heart and which led me to believe I was not worth being treasured and protected. When I began to realize and believe I did have value, and was worth being loved, I had no question as to whether or not another human life at any stage deserves the same, no matter the level of “convenience” their existence disturbs in another’s perception.
Abortion and sexual abuse are both products of the culture of death. It will take prayer and true charity to bring about the culture of life. Please join in me in prayer for the protection of the unborn today and that our culture may come to never view another human person in light of what they can or can’t do but rather what they are: a being of infinite value who is due only love.
This coming Thursday, November 5, 2020 was the due date for the child we lost, Claire Francis Buzza. I can’t help but mourn that this day is lot different than I anticipated it would be when we found out Claire was with us. In the 7 months it’s been since the day we faced our loss, I’ve learned a lot, both joyful and sorrowful.
Something so close to my heart is so close to Jesus
Just a few days before we lost our baby, I received communion for the last time before we would undergo more than three months without in person Mass. A day or two after the loss, which fell on a Wednesday, we received news that public Masses were canceled indefinitely as lock downs began. Admittedly, I felt abandoned in my grief. The one place I had always gone when I felt I could go nowhere else was now closed off.
Without the support of my loving husband, the joy my living son bring us, and the actions of my father, I can’t imagine what the first two weeks after the loss would have been like. When I woke up from surgery I found out my dad was boarding a plane to come be with me as I recovered. This was an immense consolation and had he not done this I know this time would have been much worse than it was, as after he left I began to feel weight of isolation much worse than before.
The first two weeks after the loss and surgery, I spent most of my time focusing on physical recovery and began to feel anger as society imploded in fear. A fear I felt at the time, took away any sense of compassion from what we had just gone through. As I tried to process what had just happened all anyone talked about was how it was unsafe to receive or give physical presence, the thing I craved most. And as it became the societal doctrine that anyone who deviated from this “new normal” of social distancing was a “selfish murderer,” none of it set right with me. I cried myself to sleep for 2 weeks due to feelings of abandonment ( and in part due to post-pregnancy hormones no doubt). I wondered if anyone else was feeling this way as the (in hindsight what could only be described as) militant “Quarinteam” posts flooded my social media accounts.
Around the third week after the loss, I felt I was pretty well recovered physically. It was around that time I began to really grieve the loss of the baby. I relived the day of the loss praying we had navigated everything in a way that honored our child. I felt like every time I closed my eyes I saw the image of the ultrasound that told us the pregnancy was ectopic. As I looked at my 1 year old living son, I began to feel a sense of guilt and sadness over how much love I could show him that I felt I would never be able to show the other child.
A few weeks after we lost Claire Francis, a local parish began perpetual adoration (outside of course) in light of the pandemic. My husband and I immediately ran to this. Our first visit to the Eucharist was filled with clarity and peace.
While ideally, having had recourse to the Sacraments after a loss such as ours would have been preferred, would I have searched for God in the same ways I did without them? I don’t know. But in this heightened longing which was brought about by the loss amidst social isolation, my desire for God was increased and not my desire for the world that will continually disappoint. And in that came good.
As we continued to visit the Eucharist, I came to know and feel that our little one was in the arms of Jesus through the forms of prayer that I see Jesus most. And every time we visit Jesus in the Eucharist, we also visit Claire Francis who I have no doubt is praying for us as he or she lays in green pastures and praises our Lord with the Heavenly hosts in an even more beautiful life than would have been had on Earth. Jesus holds on to a part of me that is so dear. It is through Jesus I can have a relationship with a child I didn’t give birth to, but gave life to. And in that I find joy.
Out of this experience I have had the opportunity to form relationships with others who are navigating how to grieve losing a baby in pregnancy, in a world that only recognizes the value of a baby in utero in certain cases. This is obviously problematic.
Miscarriage is a pain that’s not allowed to be expressed (and a lot of women are suffering)
After the loss, I was encouraged to join a support group of Catholic women who have had similar or identical experiences. Around the time of COVID many women voiced similar feelings of abandonment and inhumane treatment when it came to their loss.
Aside from the COVID mentality, one of the most common grievances I have heard among women who have experienced loss is the fact that these women aren’t allowed to express their pain. Because in doing so, it illegitimizes abortion and a “woman’s right to choose.” There is not a single woman I have spoken in this group who views a child as disposable. There is not a single woman I know whose experienced a loss and doesn’t feel the immense pain that comes from death within one’s very body.
The great logical fallacy that a baby is a person if it is wanted versus if it is not wanted cannot continue. WOMEN ARE SUFFERING (also PEOPLE ARE DYING). We can’t continue to ignore this suffering simply because it makes us uncomfortable. We can’t continue to redirect oppression simply so women can have “better lives.” (Not to mention a majority of women who have abortions suffer from it in the long run anyways.) Perhaps we should value human life for how precious it is and honor women for their inherent ability to bring about life. Had Claire Francis never existed, I would never have known this unseen struggle of women facing miscarriages in a society that is now indifferent to the right to life.
On November 5, 2020 a precious life I once carried might have been born. But I now call upon that life to pray for the unborn and all mother’s feeling like their only option is abortion. I hope and have faith that Claire Francis’ proximity to Jesus allows these prayers to be better heard and felt.
Freshmen year of college is perhaps one of the most exciting times of life. It’s a time of new experiences, friendships, and a completely new way of life. Many are also living away from their parents for the first time and are experiencing a freedom they’ve never known. But along with this newness, comes a recognition of the old. Our frame of reference is built upon our foundational experiences and where we come from. And we view everything that is new to us new through these experiences.
After shedding some tears as I watched my family pull away from my dorm, I remember asking one of my roommates, “What’s our curfew?” to which she replied, “Oh Mariah, there is none.” When realizing I had made a somewhat humorous assumption about what life would be life going forward, I stood a bit confused and overwhelmed. What would I do with my time? Who would I spend it with? Would I make the most of it? I vowed not to live college like I lived in high school (isolated and depressed). So I did the exact opposite of what I did back then. I followed what the crowd was doing and went to a frat party, while at the same time flocking to a remnant of what was familiar to me. My abuser.
I attended my first frat party just a couple of hours after my family left. I had never been in an environment like this and was extremely intimidated. Then someone offered me a beer.
I felt a relaxation I hadn’t felt in years. While receiving a Generalized Anxiety Disorder diagnosis at the age of 9 and taking anti-depressants since the age of 13, I had tools to mask and manage what I was feeling on a surface level. But at my very core I was exploding. With that first beer, I was able to interact with those around me in a way I had never been able to. I had forgotten about “the him” who inundated my messenger inbox. I returned to my dorm at 3 am after drinking more than I had in my entire life and smelling horrible.
Upon checking my phone I saw several messages from a person I had grown emotionally dependent on for years. Of course I responded to him telling him all about my new found freedom and the fun experiences I was having.
But very soon came the guilt trips, like those I received throughout high school.
“You go to college and you forget about me, I see how it is”
I wanted more than anything to actually forget about him but I couldn’t because of words like those. They put a hook in my heart that I was doing something wrong by ignoring him or telling him to go away. I didn’t want to hurt anyone but I failed to recognize I was hurting myself. “How would my new friends look at me if they knew I was continuing to message this man?” I felt like I was living with a mask on at all times.
Then I remembered how this impossible conflict seemed to go away when I was drinking at the party. For the next few months this became the habit I flocked to any chance I got. And when there wasn’t a party to go to, there was always alcohol to be found somewhere. It eventually got to the point that I found myself needing to drink, every night, just to take the edge off.
It got to a point where every new thing I added into my life was simply a distraction from reality. Everything from my new found relationships to the Xanax I was prescribed half-way through the semester because I was having trouble sleeping. I was living for momentary relief in things that had long lasting consequences. I was searching for the life I craved in places where death reigned.
Miraculously, I somehow got through that first semester without failing a single class. But at the end of it all, something changed in my outlook. I came to the realization that I wasn’t happy, even though I had these distractions and what appeared to be total freedom. I realized I wanted more. I didn’t want to constantly feel like I was living a double life. After having my heart broken in a relationship with another freshman that I was way too emotionally invested in, I realized I wanted to be able to live in complete authenticity. I didn’t want to hide parts of myself anymore, and do things I was uncomfortable with just to maintain relationships that ultimately drove me into deeper depression and killed my soul.
When I returned to campus that next semester, I flocked to the one thing that gave me hope and was a driving force in the switch that seemed to go off in my brain. A relationship with Christ. Because of my familiarity with the Church through a childhood that spent a great deal of time in the sacristy, I knew exactly where to look.
In this story I continued to fill my broken and wounded self with things that gave me temporary relief. And while anti-depressants can help a person manage their feelings, much more is required for a person to heal and receive lasting joy. Through the pain of this first semester I was able to reason, through the grace of God, that I would not find joy and peace from the improper or excessive use of good things (relationships, fun, wine, etc.). That first semester I let in people and things that left me more depressed than I would have been otherwise.
It was this pain that was the impetus for me to learn who I was, with the help of the Church. I discovered that my desire for relationship and peace pointed to what I was ultimately made for–a relationship with God. In understanding this I became unashamed of the desires I was acting on and began to actually love myself. I began to realize I was simply acting on them in the wrong way and that no matter what I did, I could not eliminate my value as a human person. Through recognition of these errors in the Sacrament of Confession and a change in lifestyle I was able to begin pursing the life that I was made to live. And while I still struggle every day to fully do so, I’m not as far off as I once was. Because I know that I can’t do it on my own. By surrounding myself with people who desire life to the fullest in Christ and desire my authenticity, I am freer than I’ve ever been.
It is only in understanding who you are that you will know what gives you true joy! Perhaps those desires you’re ashamed of are pointing to something good. It is simply your job to look in the proper places and to open your heart through the way you live your life to receive grace.
“Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.” (Luke 24:5 RSVCE)
A few years ago, a good friend of mine and I were sitting in a coffee shop hashing out our grievances of the opposite sex, (you know typical girl stuff). During the course of our conversation we landed on the topic of attraction.
Both of us admitted we had been confounded as to why we were or had been attracted to certain people over others throughout our lives. While there may have been certain similarities between the different men I had been attracted to, or at least emotionally invested in, there were also stark differences, and it didn’t seem to make much sense. My friend was in the same boat. She then stated something I’ve reflected on a lot since that day, “I firmly believe that attraction can occur between any male and female if they spend enough time together as our hearts were made for each other.” This is completely and undeniably true–our hearts were made for each other.
Like all good things though, that desire for love from another can be twisted for evil. In the past, I had developed feelings of attachment for my sexual abuser. This man was not only decades older me but the attachments I had developed on an emotional level for him were clearly unhealthy, and while being attached to him, I was simultaneously disgusted by that attachment. I couldn’t go five minutes without checking my phone to see if he had messaged me, because I was dependent on his attention. It was like an addiction. And I hated myself for it. These habits of dependency could also be seen in many of my early dating relationships, which inevitably ended in heartbreak.
However, in this distorted emotional desire, there rested an inkling of a very good desire. We were made for relationship.Whether we are called to marriage, religious life, or single life, at the core of who we are there is a burning desire in all of us to give and receive love. The nature of who we are as relational beings is illustrated most clearly in the creation of man and woman, specifically in Genesis 2:18-25.
18 Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.” 19 So out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name. 20 The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every beast of the field; but for the man there was not found a helper fit for him. 21 So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and while he slept took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh; 22 and the rib which the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. 23 Then the man said,
This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman,[c] because she was taken out of Man.”[d]
24 Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and cleaves to his wife, and they become one flesh. 25 And the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed.
Genesis 2: 18-25 Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition
Okay. So that might seem like a cliched passage you’ve heard at Church or in your catechism classes that seems pretty straight forward, right? In my opinion (or at least in my experience) if we take a deeper look, there lies an explanation for our desires, to give and receive love in this passage. The love between man and woman is a insightful reflection of the love we are each called to receive from God and give back to Him.
Lets start with man, Adam. When I read this passage recently, I was struck by the words of Adam when he says, “this at last….” Place yourself in the moment he first saw Eve. See how Adam is completely overwhelmed by her and at last, not alone. Feel his longing for another finally coming to fruition. I think of my own loneliness as I navigated single life (which I know was relatively short compared to most these days – yes! I married young). My loneliness was one marked by heartbreak and at times, despair. For every relationship that didn’t work out there was a doubt that I would ever find the person God was preparing for me (or that He had even remembered to give me a vocation at all). With this came a feeling of unworthiness and sadness for a love that would never come to fruition.
As Adam was brought creature after creature by God, imagine the heartbreak he experienced in his dissatisfaction. Imagine how easy it might have been for him to lose faith in God’s will for him to find a worthy partner. Yet, he trusted and continued to make space for God to keep bringing him creatures until finally, God brought him Eve. However, to receive Eve, Adam had to give of his very self. God removed a part of Adam’s body, his rib. Furthermore, the purpose of that rib was to guard his heart. If you’ve ever had surgery, you’ll know recovery is a pain! But it was out of this pain of having his heart exposed, and his vulnerability to God, he could receive the love that he was longing for in Eve. I can tell you from personal experience, I wasn’t ready for my spouse until I could authentically expose my broken heart in all it’s ugliness to Jesus. And it hurt. But Jesus hurt with me.
While we don’t hear from Eve at all, imagine this scene from her perspective. From the first sight of Adam she is delighted in by him. I often think about how treasured and worthy she must have felt in that moment. Being delighted in was something I struggled to feel as the abuse occurred. While I was being seen by a man, I was not being treasured by him. And deep down I knew this. But my desire to be treasured had been twisted so that I doubted my worthiness and thus kept responding to his advances. In my heart, I don’t think I believed any man would every truly treasure me, so I settled for what I was getting.
There is a unique desire built into the feminine heart to be noticed and beheld just as Eve was first noticed by Adam. My desire for the continued attention of my abuser was a reflection of this. We can also see there is a complimentary desire in the male heart to behold a “worthy helper.” But there is a stark difference between beholding and belittling (which is what using someone for your own gratification is).
Destruction occurs when the longing between man and woman is acted upon through use or domination. This is evil. When we lose sight of the equal dignity and responsibility that both sexes possess, we actually deny the other in his or her totality. Adam and Eve were naked and unashamed before the fall because they had not yet lost sight of this equality between them or the responsibility they had to each other. They did not yet fear the other using them for their own gratification because they were completely rooted in their identity as a creature of God. The implications of their identity as made in the image and likeness of God were understood at the level of the heart.
I can remember the first time I experienced the belief that I was treasured and beloved by God at the level of my heart. I was kneeling before the blessed Sacrament and burst into tears. I finally believed in the reality of my identity has His daughter. My life changed in that moment, and less than a year later I would meet my future spouse for the first time. The two years before we started dating were the most painful of my life. However, had I not experienced them I would not have been ready to give of myself in marriage in the same way that I can now. I had to be able to receive Jesus first.
If you are ever ashamed of your desires, explore the truth of what they are saying to you and how they point to your deepest identity as a beloved son or daughter of God. Although they may be misplaced, you are not alone as you strive to better align your will with the will of God. He will help you along the way (In fact, you can’t do it on your own). If your still waiting for your future spouse trust and pray. And if God is calling you to single life– remember, you are beloved by the One who is love Himself, and alone suffices. After all, marriage is simply a path to prepare us for the only relationship that matters in eternity! Your wait or situation in life does not dictate your worth. You are treasured.
What we believe about ourselves affects every aspect of our life and especially our relationships. It affects how we communicate with the rest of the world and also how we hear what’s being said to us. Sometimes, these beliefs become so deeply buried within us, we forget they are even there.
In some ways, the worst part about the sexual abuse I experienced were things that occurred before my abuser took advantage of me. It was the times in which people who were important to me made me feel worthless. These actions planted the seeds which allowed me to let my abuser use me at his disposal.
Some of things these actions told me were:
“My love for you is contingent on what you give me.”
“I’m not staying in your life or paying attention to you if you don’t entertain me.”
“You are a burden.”
“If someone is upset or sad, assume it is your fault.”
While it was rarely the intention of anyone in my early life to communicate these things to me, this is what occurred.
Why did I have these feelings and beliefs? Was it the result of a flawed outlook inside of myself or was it truly the behavior of everyone around me? The more I’ve reflected on what set the stage for my rocky teen years, I’ve come to the conclusion that the answer is, both. While I now understand it was very rarely the intention of those I held dear to hurt me, the actions of, and more often inaction, of key figures of my early life (several affiliated with the Church) communicated that I was unworthy of their love. And even though I was blessed with many who loved me very well (both in my family and the Church), I heard the love I didn’t receive over the love that I did. I suppose this is human nature (or perhaps a consequence of original sin).
A few weeks ago I was asked to present a talk on the value of Catholic health care for the apostolate I work for. In preparation for this talk I sat staring at a picture of Jesus hung in my dining room. I felt him telling me “Remember who you are.” (Of course I was immediately taken back to my favorite movie as a child, The Lion King, but that’s besides the point.) In the few weeks since I’ve gave this talk, this phrase has come up more times then I can count. #IhearyouJesus.
So what does this phrase have to do with my experience of sexual abuse and the people and events that formed my sense of self-worth?
My journey of healing, in large part, has been defined by coming to understand and believe my truest identity. Healing has come from not only knowing that I am loved, but believing that I am delighted in by the Creator of the Universe. And this is enough to dispel the lies that I once believed about myself. All of the lies I once believed were rooted in a warped sense of identity.
Most people come to initially understand their identity through their parents or other strong influences in their lives. What these people say we are is very powerful and in some ways form our perception of how God views us. However, because we are all imperfect beings, parents included, flawed perceptions of identity exist. While I believe it is rarely the intention of a parent to neglect or communicate to their child that they are unworthy of love, unfortunately, it does happen. And it can be difficult to remember that one’s own flawed understanding of inherent dignity and self-worth is not always in accordance with the reality that God has set forth (a reality in which you are infinitely valued by an infinite God!).
The flawed perception that I carried of my own identity allowed others to treat me in accordance with this perception. I didn’t see myself as having value, so I allowed others to treat me like I lacked it. And those who hurt me were also acting in accordance with how they perceived themselves (I would venture to say that their perceptions were also very flawed).
Because I did not believe that I was treasured by significant figures in my early life, I did not realize I was treasured by Our Lord. Because of my flawed understanding of love, I ultimately saw our Lord (who is Love incarnate) as a judgmental law giver who I could never please. Someone who did not want a relationship with me but rather someone who I simply obeyed orders from. Someone who did not will my good, but only loved me for what I could do for Him.
Thus, I was predisposed to be pursued by those who used me for their own gratification. I viewed myself more like an object than a person, and thus I allowed others to treat me as such. I more easily entered into relationships with people who treated me this way, as it was easier to accept their perception of me than of someone who viewed me as a infinitely valued daughter of God. It was easier because I already believed what their treatment of me indicated. Living as if I did have value required an immense amount of trust that I just wasn’t ready for.
The reality that I was loved and valuable in the eyes of God challenged the perceptions I carried of my own identity, shaking me to my very core. I wasn’t ready to truly believe that I was worthy of being treasured and protected as a beloved daughter of God. This reality also required that I sit and wait patiently for authentic love while the objectified view allowed me to feel a sense of instant gratification that I was desired. However, once this gratification wore off, the reality that I was being used set in. And the sexual acts that I was subjected to ultimately communicated to me a lie that I was not worthy of complete commitment.
All sin is rooted in flawed perception of identity and my greatest failing in my story of abuse is neglecting to have faith in my truest identity (which I understood logically, but not in my heart). Faith in my identity would have required me to act in accordance with all I had heard about how the Lord views us as beloved, even though I couldn’t quite feel it. Thankfully, the Lord never gave up on me. I now know He wanted me to feel His love, but needed me to choose Him first for authentic relationship between us to exist.
Understanding your identity first starts with an accurate understanding of who God is (and He is indeed a loving Father who delights in you!). And while we will never understand Him completely, if we give Him an honest look, we know that He’s only ever communicated His immense love and longing for us. And our relationship with Him defines our identity above all else.
Who do you believe Christ is? Who do you believe that you are?
It was a crisp spring day in the Central Valley of California. We had just finished an all school Mass at my Catholic high school when one of my teachers asked to speak with me privately.
Heart racing, palms sweating (much like Eminem) I was unnecessarily worried that I was about to be suspended as I tried to figure out what this could be about. (even though I hadn’t done anything to warrant that type of punishment #relax Mariah)
My teacher closed the door to their classroom and just said, “How you doing you’ve seemed a bit down lately?” My first thought, “is it that obvious?” What I replied, “I’m doing good”, the first lie that I would l tell in this conversation.
Just prior to this conversation my abuser had significantly increased his solicitations and communication with me. This was the last semester of my senior year, and a few months from my 18th birthday. Part of me pretended that these solicitations were happening while the other part of me sat in confusion not knowing what to do. At this point I had let what was happening go on for far too long. I was convinced it was too late to say anything or even let myself think that was happening was not my fault. I was convinced it was. The last thing I was going to do was tell anyone. I couldn’t handle anymore conflict in my family and social life.
As I have written about in previous blogs a month into my high school career, my parents divorced, and it wasn’t a nice divorce to say the least. It came right as I was recovering from perhaps one of the most severe bouts of depression I’ve ever experienced and sent me back quite a bit. I mention this only to illustrate I wasn’t in the place at any point in my high school life to add another element of conflict to my already tumultuous environment, all while I was trying to figure out who I was as an unstable adolescent girl. At the time I couldn’t bear losing the relationships that had come to be so important to me in the past few years. In fact, I was emotionally dependent on them.
As the conversation proceeded, my teacher eventually asked, “Is there anything going on? (specifically in regards to sexual harassment)” The moment I was asked this, there was a part of me that wanted to divulge everything that was going on. But unfortunately, that part didn’t win. “No, I’m just tired” I said. This was my typical response when anyone asked me if I was okay, which in hindsight I realized I was asked this quite a bit. Yikes.
When I eventually came forward about everything that happened my sophomore year of college, I thought back to this conversation frequently. What would have happened had I told my teacher back then? Honestly, I don’t know, and probably never will. I do know that back then, I didn’t have the same personal relationship with Christ that gave me the ability to do so. That relationship made all the difference. Despite a deep attraction to the faith, there was much I hadn’t yet let sink into my heart.
While I was seen as a leader in my parish’s youth and in my high school’s faith life, I walked around constantly consumed by the secret I couldn’t tell that teacher who tried to help. I put too much pressure on myself to have it all together because of how I was seen. Terrified of creating a scandal, my soul was consumed by shame. As I was constantly jumping in and out of the confessional, I despaired in the fact that I couldn’t get out of the cycle I was unwittingly baited into my abuser.
I will be forever grateful to that teacher who had the courage to ask me if I was being sexually harassed. When I did eventually come forward, it served as one of the many indicators that I was doing the right thing.
If you suspect someone in your life, particularly an adolescent or child, is suffering from sexual abuse or harassment, reach out to them. While it may not be an immediate solace for their problems, your concern may be a flicker of hope for them when they are eventually ready to come forward.
Pope Francis declared 2016 a jubilee year for the Church known as “The Year of Mercy.” For me, this was indeed a year of great mercy. It was in this year I came forward about being sexually abused in my hometown parish. It was the year I came to really know the person of Christ. It was the year Love found me in my misery.
In February of 2015, a month prior to the announcement of the jubilee year, I finally had the trust and courage to confide in another person about everything that had happened to me. I can remember the details of that day so distinctly. There was a place on campus I would often go to sit in silence and pray. It was right off of a creek in a wooded area at UC Berkeley. I headed there after class on a particularly rough day and found my best friend sitting in that spot waiting for me. I asked her “hey what are you doing here?” She said “I had a feeling you would be here!”
In everything that happened following this greeting, I have no doubt she was prompted by the Holy Spirit to meet me there that day. I told her everything. I trusted her with my heart and the things I suffered the most humiliation from. I believed I was “unlovable, unworthy of relationship, and intrinsically flawed” (although at the time I couldn’t put these beliefs into words I couldn’t really put these beliefs into words). I told her how embarrassed I was about the sexual relationship “I had engaged in” with a much older man at my church. While this relationship had started while I was still a minor in high school, I continued to receive messages from this individual into my freshmen year of college, at the time of this conversation. As her eyes teared up, she lovingly helped me see that I had been manipulated due to my age and vulnerability. Because of this, my culpability in the situation had been compromised.
I had been living in the lie that everything that had happened was entirely my fault and I could not forgive myself. Although I had made efforts to cut off communication throughout the course of this relationship, he kept coming back, and I kept responding because I felt a guilt in not doing so.I felt I owed him for paying attention to me. I also felt a sense of attachment to this individual that had developed over the course of few years. Because of this attachment I believed I had complete freedom to choose and continually attempted to minimize what had happened. This was not the first time I had ever been trapped in a lie like this, but perhaps the most shameful I had ever felt. My friend’s empathetic and loving response was exactly what I needed to be free of this lie.
Her compassion was a reflection of Christ’s compassion. He was saddened by my hiding from others and most especially from Him as it prevented our relationship from growing. My greatest sin in this situation was the inability to forgive myself and give my woundedness completely to Jesus. While God is perfectly just He is also abundantly merciful. Like many others before me, I tended to focus on just one of those. I’ve come to know since this day that that is how I hurt Christ most, through my failure to acknowledge his Divine Mercy.
Just prior to this experience I had become familiar with the devotion of Divine Mercy thanks to the same friend I had confided in. She had begun reading a book about St. Faustina and would share what she had read with me. In these discussion I came to once again realize that Christ wanted me to come to Him above all else. I came to understand the actual person of Christ, not just the idea of Christ.
The biggest obstacle in my journey to find mercy and forgiveness throughout my life has been myself. It’s way too easy to believe that you’re the only one whose ever committed the wrongdoing that you can’t forgive yourself for or are afraid to talk to anyone about. That’s pride talking, pride disguised as humility. There is a 99.9999999% chance that the wrongdoing you’re afraid to talk to anyone about is not unique to you. The only thing unique to your sin is you. One of the things I’ve come to learn about what we call “sin” is that is NOT creative in any sense of the word. I lived in this false humility for a long time in my struggles with sex and abuse.
There’s something particularly shame-inducing and painful when it comes to sexual sins. Why is that? Perhaps it is because our sexuality is very personal or sacred part of who we are. A different friend of mine once confided in me that they were struggling with the sin of masturbation. “I can’t even say that word” my friend said. What stuck out to me most about this conversation is that I had to say the word “masturbation” for them. It was physically painful for them to say what they were trapped in. But once they did, they felt a power to overcome it. I myself, knew the pain of not being able to speak truth. My friend was able to take it to the Sacrament of Confession and felt a freedom they had never known. Christ was waiting for them there just as He had been waiting for me.
It was at the very beginning of the Year of Mercy I came to a priest in the Sacrament of Confession and confided in him my inability to give all of my woundedness completely to Christ. He listened to my entire story and met with me after the confession to help me navigate how to come forward with my abuse. With the help of this amazing spiritual father, and through a miraculous moment in adoration, Jesus said “Yes” After months of getting “No” to my question “Should I come forward?” I got a “Yes” And at the moment I felt this “Yes,” I believe I saw the face of Jesus in tears in front of the monstrance I was gazing at. He was weeping for me. This gave me strength to do what I had to do.
In hindsight I recognize that Jesus waited to give me this “Yes” until I was strong enough to bear the fallout of coming forward. I had to be completely rooted in my relationship with Him before I could endure the losses that would come. Perhaps there are elements of His timing that I have yet to see or may never know. But I completely trust that it was His will.
Recently I have found a renewed fire for the Devotion to Divine Mercy and have cracked open the Diary of St. Faustina that has been sitting on my book shelf for quite some time. In March of 2015, Pope Francis announced the 2016 jubilee year would be called “The Year of Mercy.” In January of 2016, following months of discernment with a spiritual director and daily conversations with Christ, I came forward to Church officials and my family about what had happened. That year April 3rd, my birthday, fell on Divine Mercy Sunday. I believe that through this providential landing Christ was telling me that everything that had happened in this year had a purpose and His mercy was with me in it all.
Just as Christ desperately desired my vulnerability He desperately wants yours. Bring them to the foot of His cross and let Him love you!
What its like to suffer a tragedy during a global pandemic?
Life doesn’t stop for a global pandemic. I guess your agreement of that statement would depend on how you define the word “life”. For the purposes of this blog, here are the characteristics of “life” that I want to discuss. A majority of our life occurs internally. It is how we perceive and communicate within. Our experience of giving and receiving love brings us the most life. It propels us into action, fills our hearts, and even injures us. It’s a great adventure. This experience of life does not stop even though external factors change. Perhaps these external factors have the power to change what we experience, but not how we receive and give love. At least, we don’t have to let them.
When times are tough, people show their best and unfortunately their worst. Fear influences a great deal of our life if we give it the power it demands. It tricks us into thinking we can control the outcomes of our life, when in reality, no matter what we do we have very little power. This is when the worst comes out. For the past few weeks, as coronavirus has began spreading the United States we have seen just that. (All you have to do is go to the store and look for toilet paper to figure this out.)
March 15, 2020
On March 15, 2020 my husband and I found out we were expecting our second child. I felt the life of the child. I had so many hopes and dreams for him or her already. I couldn’t wait for Joseph to meet his brother or sister. The child was very much alive and instantly a part of our family. While I was overjoyed by the fact our family was expanding, if I’m being completely honest, I was terrified of the timing. How does COVID-19 effect pregnant women? Will there be enough space in the hospital for my baby to be born? What if my baby catches the virus? These were some of the thoughts passing through my head as I processed the wonderful fact that life was growing within me. Knowing and believing that God wills every life into existence, I knew no matter what we were going to be okay. But I didn’t anticipate anything could further complicate or fuel my anxiety.
As the week progressed, something didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel like my last pregnancy (which was healthy and normal). I kept telling myself “You know what they say-‘every pregnancy is different’” and “your just anxious because everyone else is” but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. By Tuesday night I started having physical symptoms that reinforced this feeling. (I’ll spare you the details.)
March 18, 2020
The next morning, my husband and I were being interviewed by hospital staff as we entered our local ER. “Any fever in the past week? Cough? Family with Coronavirus?” No. No. No. Much like all non-essential businesses, the ER waiting room was completely and eerily empty. Not only were we worried about catching the coronavirus by the mere fact we set foot in a hospital, but we had no idea what was going on with me and the baby. While the added safety precautions at the hospital were good and necessary, this didn’t exactly make the experience as peaceful as it could have been.
When we finally got the ultrasound, I could see the baby and the yolk sac in the exact spot where I was experiencing the most amount of pain. Twenty minutes later the doctor came back into our room, sat down, and said, “I’m sorry to tell you guys the pregnancy is ectopic.” In the 30 minutes in took for her to deliver the results, we sat already knowing what was happening. Working for a Catholic health care organization as well as being involved with pro-life activism, we both knew what it meant to have an ectopic pregnancy. The baby had implanted in my fallopian tube instead of my uterus, meaning there was no room for growth. The baby was not going to make it no matter what was done. And if nothing was done, my internal organs would eventually rupture, threatening my life. We also knew that not every treatment given for ectopic pregnancy would recognize the dignity of the child that was growing inside me.
The most common treatment, Methotrexate, is a pill typically given to cancer patients and works similar to chemotherapy as it attacks rapidly dividing cells. This was not an option for us. Although small and attached to an area of my body that was dangerous for both of us, I knew directly targeting the life of my child was still wrong. So what was the solution?
A salpingectomy is a surgery that removes the fallopian tube (or a segment of it.) With an ectopic pregnancy, a salpingectomy removes the fallopian tube the child has implanted in to save the life of the mother, and the death of the child is a secondary consequence. While the child will ultimately die as a result, the child would die if left in the fallopian tube, as it will rupture. This procedure does not directly target the life of the child. The principle of double effect dictates that the life of the mother must be sustained in order for the child to have life. In this procedure the dignity of both are recognized.
In the 30 minutes (which felt like 3 hours) we sat waiting for the doctor I ran through every scenario of what could happen next in my mind. Will I be able to find anyone willing to do surgery in the midst of this pandemic? If the hospital refuses surgery, will I find someone else who can treat me in time? In this scenario I’m taking the chance of rupture, possible death, and leaving my almost one-year old son without a mother. This was my nightmare.
We called trusted mentors and friends who had backgrounds in bioethics. We prepared our response to the doctor if offered methotrexate. We decided that if we were not given any other option than a procedure that directly ended the life of my baby we would find another hospital. By the grace of God, we had the energy and clarity to do this. There were moments in which I was tempted to justify any easy way out. “Well maybe it’s okay to directly kill the baby because the hospital is overwhelmed for preparing for COVID-19? They are going to think I’m crazy. Some argue all methotrexate does is attack the cells of the fallopian tube! Yeah” No Mariah, still wrong. But our mentors and my wonderful husband kept me on track and gave me the courage we needed.
Thankfully the hospital respected our wishes for surgery instead of methotrexate. It was the best possible outcome given the situation, and I will be forever grateful for that. We were not forced to make that nightmare choice. But what would have happened if this occurred two weeks later after COVID-19 spread the entirety of the country? I’m not sure we would have been so lucky.
In the aftermath of last week, I faced the hard realization that we probably wouldn’t have been. After finding out we were having another child, losing that child, and facing my own mortality in the span of four days, I was (and still am) a complete mess. All of this happening in the midst of social distancing has been really hard. There have been instances where I’ve asked for support, was not met with compassion, but fear of COVID-19. I wasn’t expecting people to do anything unsafe, but only to be there for us virtually if possible. I don’t blame anyone for being scared. This whole situation has convicted me to express that life doesn’t stop amidst COVID-19. Things are going to get worse. But we can choose to unite through it, or let our anxiety consume us. (and trust me I know how easy that is, I take pills for it.)
Even before COVID-19 became the only thing in my Facebook feed, having an ectopic pregnancy was terrifying as not everyone in the medical field sees the unborn as persons. If we lose ourselves in this panic, more people will die, particularly the most vulnerable. Fear makes us justify the unjustifiable. People who fight for the unborn will feel a pressure never before seen in the midst of crowded hospitals. People who work in the medical field will undergo the torture of not being able to save everyone. This is a time to pray for courage and perseverance and stand firm in what you believe as the coming days could be really hard. My husband and I faced a horrifying moral dilemma, which we knew the right answer to, in the looming threat of the coronavirus. Are we prepared for when the threat really hits hard?
I ask you to take a step back, turn off the news, and call your friends even if its just for tonight.
Do not let COVID-19 rob us of our shared humanity. While we are still processing everything that’s happened and will be for a while, we have had many moments of pure grace. Sharing with friends who have experienced the same thing and unexpected gestures of love have helped us make sense of it all. And most of this has been done in the proper social distancing fashion! The loneliness of this time has made the love we’ve been given even greater. Our healing process is far from complete but I take consolation in the fact we did everything we could to honor the dignity of the baby we named Claire Francis. And while we won’t get to experience our lives here on this Earth with this precious child, I have no doubt Claire is in the arms of Jesus waiting for us.
In honor of Claire Francis, I ask that you reach out to someone this week whom you haven’t spoken to since social distancing began. Claire taught me that what we should fear most is losing our good will. And what better way to keep that good will than by showing someone you care. COVID-19 cannot keep us from living because it cannot keep us from loving.
Being a parent has been one of the greatest and most challenging experiences of my life. My son has helped me to love in ways that I never knew I was capable of. As any new parent knows, parenthood encompasses every aspect of your life, and it’s easy to forget how to be alone or simply be without the constant attention that infants and young children require. It can be easy to allow the busyness of parenthood to stop yourself from experiencing the negative emotions or thoughts that sometimes come along with silence. And for someone whose been a victim of abuse, these silences can be terrifying.
This past Sunday I attended Mass alone for the first time in a very long time. With the #coronavirus outbreak my husband and I decided to keep our sick son at home and attend Mass separately so one of us could stay home with him. (Yes we are one of those families who stocked up on toilet paper.) However, this presented an unexpected challenge for me. For the first time in a long time, I was able to be thoroughly present and focused on the Mass and I was really looking forward to it. While it provided some necessary time for me to pray and be with Jesus, the silence and focus opened the door for a flashback.
At the offertory, as the altar server took the lavabo (water bowl) to the priest to cleanse his hands, I fondly remembered my own time as an altar server. In the memory I was carrying up the lavabo and an old friend, a priest, jokingly splashed me with water (I know, a bit irreverent.) While this was a positive memory, the thought of this priest and the good relationship we previously had sent me in a spiral of negative emotions. These feelings affected the rest of my day and made it harder to communicate with my family when I got home.
After months of painful discernment and coming to terms with the sexual abuse I had experienced as a teenager, through an act of pure mercy and love, Christ showed me that it was time to report the incident. He prompted me to do this once I had a solid, prayerful foundation in His love, and a truthful perception of myself as His sister. Without this foundation, I know I would not have gotten through the consequences of coming forward.
“You are going to lose friends, and people will speak ill of you, but you are doing the right thing and Christ is close to you in this.” I clung to these words from a priest I spoke to about my abuse. He lovingly sat with me for hours and helped me make a plan, but nothing he said could have prepared me for experiencing the loss of a friend and the invalidation of deeply personal trauma that I was about to endure.
Step 1: Call my father
This was the conversation I was dreading most, however it ended up being the easiest part of my journey in the grand scheme of things. My father loved me through the news I shared with him. As a parent now myself, I understand the amount of devastation he must have felt as his child told him that she had been sexually targeted by an individual he knew.
Step 2: Call the Diocese
As I mentally prepared to contact the diocese, I paced back and forth thinking about what was awaiting me upon making my report. I called the Victim Assistance coordinator for the diocese who set an immediate appointment to see me. This appointment was scheduled to take place in the parish I met my abuser with the pastor of the parish also present.
A Meeting That Still Hurts
This particular day was my pastor’s day off, but because of our friendship he had agreed to meet. Although he was dying to know what this meeting was about, I followed the advice of a trusted mentor and did not tell him until the day of the meeting. My mentor feared that my pastor would run to my abuser for confirmation of these events. Del (my abuser) and my pastor were very good friends. I wanted to tell him first for the sake of our friendship, but I also feared he would tell Del prior to my report and Del would persuade him I was lying. As I arrived for the meeting, he was visibly nervous, as any pastor would be with the unexpected presence of the diocesan victim’s assistance coordinator.
During the meeting I presented what had happened to both my pastor and the Victim Assistance Coordinator in a private room. I delved into the personal and explicit messages on Facebook messenger (don’t let your kids have Facebook) illustrating what had happened. I showed them Del’s explicit solicitations for sexual images and electronic communication while I was well under the age of 18. I showed them my “failure” to explicitly refuse Del’s requests, instead giving him vague and avoidant responses while not fulfilling those requests. I spoke about the in-person event that happened 2 days after my 18th birthday which left me feeling gross and the most worthless that I’ve ever felt. It was horrible. While the Victim’s Assistant Coordinator constantly reassured me that I had reason to come forward and expressed that I was clearly groomed by my abuser, my pastor was in disbelief. I shared with them the most personal and disgusting realities and events of my life. And the person in the room with which I had a deep and established relationship did not want to hear me.
Expecting my pastor to react in a loving and trusting manner to what I had brought to him, as I identified myself as his spiritual daughter, he kept asking “Why I had to bring the diocese into it?” I didn’t know what to think or how to respond. While the amount of freedom I felt after divulging this information was well worth the pain of coming forward, a new pain emerged: betrayal.
An Abusive Response
In a previous blog I mentioned my life changed dramatically in the spring of 2015. I had come into a closer relationship with Christ and with that, for the first time, I saw myself as someone with immense value. I no longer felt like a worthless and shameful waste of space. At that time, I had cut off all communication with Del, who had still been contacting me into my first semester of college. On February 25, 2015, my life began when I sent him this final message:
“The other night may have come as a bit of a shock to you in regards to how I reacted. In the case that it did, I hope it helps you wake up. When I began getting messages similar to that as a 16 year old I did not know how to take it. If you knew my history (which I have a strong feeling you know more than I am aware of) you would understand why I played in the way I did. In brief summary it stems from the sexual manipulation from a young man I was very close to who was significantly older than me when I was age 12. I have a lot of healing to do because of these situations and unfortunately my relationship with you has only made matters worse. (I know harsh) I am telling you this and taking the time to do this because I care for you as fellow human being and hope that this will not happen to anyone else again that you come into contact with especially a young adult/minor. The depth of damage you have caused me is outstanding. Granted I was young[,] your age and experience gives you an obligation to guide youth to clean and Christ-like interaction. In the culture we live in unfortunately that is not something that is attractive. I can only imagine the hurt you have received in your lifetime and greatly sympathize with you. In my interactions with you I can tell you are very insecure about yourself and only wish you to feel more secure and confident in the goodness you were made for. I am ashamed that you used me to feel more secure. But you cannot let this cycle continue. As I look back on any intimate interaction that took place between us I realize now the gravity and imprudent nature of these events. These interactions caused me intense amounts of pain as well as your constant need to flaunt your sexual experience. We are made for much deeper love than this and your abuse of yourself and others deeply violates the natural order in which we have been created. I continued to justify our situation the past two [years] as I thought myself to be old enough to understand and make a decision. However, I now realize just how young I was when this started. That being said, if I ever find out you are doing this to someone under 18 again I will not hesitate to file a police report. The only reason I haven’t already is that it would deeply hurt several members of my community who know both you and [me.] I wish you the best of luck in finding healing with yourself and hope you do not continue to justify what you have been doing. I see much goodness in you but the gravity of your actions deeply blurs my view of you. You are not entitled.”
As your sister in Christ,
After I sent this message, I noticed my pastor becoming less friendly and interested in maintaining friendship with me. He and Del had become even closer and I worried that Del was planting seeds of doubt about my character in my pastor’s mind.
In conversation with my pastor, his views kept fluctuating between having my back and justifying Del’s innocence. Some of the comments that still ring in my ears include:
“She was 18.”
“Why didn’t you tell me first?”
“He has a right to be here.” (Even though he was far closer to other parishes in which he could attend Mass.)
“Does she want money?” (Even though no lawsuit or the talk of one was ever mentioned or pursued.)
“Let’s talk when you’re not so upset.”
“Maybe one day you won’t be so negative.”
These comments touched on the things that prevented me from coming forward in the first place, and that I had to battle with daily to build the strength to come forward. There are still moments in which I struggle with these lies. The mental torment that has gone through my head could have been eased with a much more loving and just reaction on the part of those I thought important in my life, such as my pastor. This is why listening and justly assessing accusations WITH CHARITY is so important. I will deal with the wounds from the abuse for the rest of my life. The negative responses I have received compounds the trauma. In the moment I received them, it had the potential to set me back drastically in my journey to find healing. Providentially, I had the support and tools to get through it even though it was far from easy.
Love In Misery
After Mass yesterday I struggled with emotions of rage and worthlessness. While nothing in my life is actively causing it, the mere reminder of how my pastor handled what happened sent me in a spiral. It is horrible that it was within the Most Holy Sacrament that I received this reminder. This is why abuse in the Church is so horrendous. While it took a bit of effort to recover, I thankfully have the tools I need, thanks to cognitive therapy and a supportive Church. Had I not had access to the Sacraments and those other healing resources, I would not be here today. It is the truth and beauty of 2000 years of wisdom that has healed me. Our Church is full of sinners, which we all are (and some of them are very vile,) and I was hurt by a member of it, but Christ has healed me through His Church. Christ came to heal sinners, and He left us His Church so we might come to Him.
Immediately following the meeting my pastor, the diocesan representative took me to the police department to file charges. She constantly reassured me that I was doing the right thing and I shouldn’t doubt myself. She displayed the love of a mother as I ran through the explicit details of everything that had happened to the police. I could see the pain in her face as I spoke. This was the Church in action. She didn’t have to come with me to this appointment, but she did. She didn’t have to check in on me as I returned to campus to make sure I was doing okay, but she did. She reassured me that no matter what happened with the police, Del would be restricted from work and ministry in the diocese indefinitely, and he is.
My friends back in Berkeley and the campus ministry at the time helped me as well. The Church was supporting me whether I was at home or at school. Despite the emotional heartache and moments of self-doubt I was experiencing, I wasn’t alone and Christ had placed everyone in my life that was there for this reason. They were amazing and kept me going. And the thought and memory of these people, the people who responded with love, make days like yesterday bearable.
I will carry the emotional memory of what I experienced for the rest of my life. There are times that this emotional memory has caused me to be upset at seemingly trivial things. It’s something that I and other victim’s abuse have to work through day by day. But I have no doubt Christ is and can use this for His glory and my ultimate good—which is to be with Him in eternity!
It seems like yesterday I was 16, sitting at the kitchen table “doing homework” (really scrolling through Facebook) when I received a message via Facebook messenger. It was around 10:30 pm when I read the words “GO TO BED.” I can remember thinking something seemed a bit off about this message or perhaps about who was sending it considering the time. I brushed that feeling off desiring not to blow things out of proportion. The sender (whom I will not name throughout the course of this blog or any future blog-but will refer to as “Del”) was an acquaintance in his 50’s who i knew through altar serving and my family’s friendship with our parish priest.
In this blog I will discuss the factors in my life that led up to this message and my further contact with Del. There are so many experiences and conditions that play into why a victim of sexual abuse responds the way they do and why an abuser chooses a victim. My hopes are that my life experience can shed light onto how and why abuse occurs, particularly in a parish setting. My hopes are that it illustrates the degree of freedom, or lack there of, thatexists.
Growing up I pretty much spent what felt like every free hour I had volunteering in some capacity in my parish. I enjoyed every minute of it. It was a place where I felt I had a purpose, and people admired me for it. But more than this, I began cultivating a relationship with Christ from an early age through exposure to the Blessed Sacrament and participation in liturgical ministries. I had a rocky home life, and this was the place I felt most loved and safe. There were people in my parish, including our pastor, who became my family. I valued them so highly, perhaps too much. And Christ too little at times.
I first met Del at the age of 12. He was a friend to a high ranking man in my home diocese. From the moment I met him I could tell something was different, perhaps concerning, about this man. And for the sake of desiring to see the best in people, I made efforts to view him in a positive light. Del was charismatic. He was overly friendly and made it a point to show everyone what he could do for them. He seemed to know everything and everyone. In fact, on the day I met him, he offered to write a college recommendation letter for me (because at 12 that was the first thing on my mind) after claiming to have attended a prestigious university himself. That day I learned more about his personal accomplishments than anything else.
As an ultra naive 12 year old, I had my first encounter with heart break. An older boy of 16, whom I idolized in every way possible, took advantage of this naivety. I had my first encounter with disordered sexuality through this situation and I lost the person I considered my best friend. It completely changed the way I viewed myself, as worthless, and heavily impacted the next chapter of my life. The worthlessness I felt led me to doubt my judgments and find wrong in everything I did. I began taking anti-depressants at 13 and struggled with self-harm. While I was definitely predisposed to depression and anxiety, this and the dynamics of my family life were the key factors that brought them out.
My depression was very visible to those in my life. At this time our pastor took a lot of time to counsel me. He invested energy into showing me I was not alone. This cultivated between us a great friendship that I was very thankful for and needed. My involvement at Church increased to the point where someone once asked me if they kept a food and water bowl for me in the Sacristy. I was always there assisting with anything liturgical and Father relied on me for a lot. When I had eventually confirmed the duplicity in Del’s intention, I was afraid to lose this friendship.
In September of my freshmen year of high school, the rocky home life that I have referred to finally imploded with the untimely, and far from amicable, divorce of my parents. The divorce divided our friends and family against each other. From my eyes, it seemed almost everyone in my life was speculating about who to blame and placing themselves into the situation inappropriately. Because of this, I trusted very few people and a majority of the relationships I had cultivated with many family friends (from church) were essentially destroyed. Having just started a new school, I didn’t have many friends and had almost zero drive to make any. The only people I trusted were our pastor and a woman, who became like a grandma to me, who stood by my side through it all. I craved stability and friendship.
It was around this time, I noticed Del’s relationship with our pastor growing immensely. One night, after a week day Mass, he pulled me aside to give his condolences to me on my parent’s divorce. I stood there speechless as he stared at me for a good 20 seconds. This was the first time I felt uncomfortable in his presence. The way he looked at me was no less than creepy. That was the first timeI brushed off the feeling that something wasn’t right.
After the first Facebook message, Del began messaging me daily. For awhile I continued to brush off that something seemed odd about his sudden and increased interest in me. The messages ranged from “Hi” to “what are you doing?” seemingly harmless and kind gestures right? Then, after awhile of gaining my trust and Del making himself a normal part of my life through his constant messages, the nicknames began.
The life events I have discussed in this blog, increased my risk of sexual abuse. My abuser used the institution of the Church to take advantage of my vulnerability in the place I felt the safest. If my story resonates with you or behavior you have seen in a youth you know, it would not hurt to reach out. You never know who else is.