A reader writes:
I am still thinking over the interview with Susan Clancy. I was sexually abused over a number of years. At first I did not know it was wrong. I was told it was punishment and, for a time, I accepted that. Over time I realized more and more that what was happening was wrong. As this realization increased so did the trauma (for lack of a better word). At that point I was not only a victim but, because of my acquiescing to abuse when it began, I felt that I bore some blame.
To say that there is no trauma is to define trauma as only being the psychological effect at the time of the act. From my experience it is more progressive.
As time progressed and I matured as a human the trauma was slowly revealed or uncovered. It became as oppressive as any trauma suffered by an adult who was fully aware of the wrongness of rape as it happened. Long before the abuse ended I suffered from nightmares and oppressive fear. Those continue 40 years later.
In short, it seems that Clancy is making a narrow definition of trauma, basically a semantic argument, the focus of her book. I fail to see how that helps me and other survivors of sexual abuse.
Another writes:
I experienced childhood sexual abuse (at the hands of a stepfather, until age 7) and two separate, unrelated traumas (being trapped in a burning building at age 5 and an attempted stranger-kidnapping at age 9). I was raised by a Christianist mother who prayed for me instead of getting me a counselor when the results of the latter two traumas showed themselves (night terrors, irrational fears, flashbacks); thus, it was only when I got a secular therapist at age 18 that I really experienced healing and resolution of these things.
I can say without hesitation that the latter two experiences were more traumatic, in that I never had nightmares, flashbacks, etc., related to the molestation.
However, the sexual abuse was far more insidious and difficult to heal from. It messed with my mind and made me feel guilty, because while I never wanted to be molested, I did enjoy the attention, the feeling that I was special, and the physical closeness and affection that were part of it. It was confusing beyond anything I can make words describe. I never blamed myself for getting stuck in the fire or for the pervert who tried to get me into his car. I blamed myself for decades for getting molested and, to a very small degree, still have my doubts. My abuser is only marginally more intelligent than the Forest Gump character. If he could tell that, in some ways, I enjoyed at least aspects of it, like being hugged and paid attention to, doesn't that make me partially responsible? No, of course not, says my rational, adult self. The child inside is still, at times, confused.
I read the Salon piece, and I can definitely see where someone who was sexually abused but did NOT grow up in a Christianist religion, with all its inherent guilt-producing nonsense, would find the whole thing confusing but not an especially big deal. The guilt-production mechanism installed by my early childhood religious training was by far my biggest obstacle in healing.
The Dish 