I searched my memory for meaningful interaction with grown ups and was both astonished, and appalled with my truth. The man who groomed me for sexual abuse is the only person in my life who gave me meaningful interactions during my childhood. He did this during the grooming process (I am in no way counting the abuse, just the grooming). He used to ask me about my day. He wanted to know who my best friends were, what my favorite subjects in school were, and what my favorite activities were. He proved to me that he was sincerely paying attention with his responses, and by the way that he remembered everything that I said. He gave me eye contact, he smiled, and he made me forget about time.
I understand intellectually that he did these things to control me and win me over so that he could exploit my trust and then eventually my body. However, I found myself remembering these interactions with fondness. I had not thought about these specific times in I don’t know how long, and while I sat and pondered, I found myself smiling, feeling warmth, feeling good… And then I was appalled with myself. WTF?!!!
The only other grown up who gave me positive interactions was my track and field coach, and while I remember him with fondness, I did not actually develop a bond with him the way that I did with my abuser. Also, I had already outgrown 'childhood' by this time.
I can’t help but feel something positive when I remember the talks and time that I had with him. These feelings are totally separate from the feelings that I have when I think about the abuse. I find myself even…dare I say, treasuring the memory of feeling loved. It’s as if it’s literally, the feeling of being loved that I remember, not him, just that feeling and experience that I seem to be fond of. What's wrong with me? This seems so twisted.
I understand intellectually that he did these things to control me and win me over so that he could exploit my trust and then eventually my body. However, I found myself remembering these interactions with fondness. I had not thought about these specific times in I don’t know how long, and while I sat and pondered, I found myself smiling, feeling warmth, feeling good… And then I was appalled with myself. WTF?!!!
The only other grown up who gave me positive interactions was my track and field coach, and while I remember him with fondness, I did not actually develop a bond with him the way that I did with my abuser. Also, I had already outgrown 'childhood' by this time.
I can’t help but feel something positive when I remember the talks and time that I had with him. These feelings are totally separate from the feelings that I have when I think about the abuse. I find myself even…dare I say, treasuring the memory of feeling loved. It’s as if it’s literally, the feeling of being loved that I remember, not him, just that feeling and experience that I seem to be fond of. What's wrong with me? This seems so twisted.