This is infertility

 I need to write. Writing unravels my brain. But my brain is so knotted up that I can't even find an end. Words and phrases are coming out in fragments, pieces of thoughts. It's all I have right now. Stream of consciousness, knotted up broken pieces of thoughts. 

This is infertility

I

Get off birth control

Before 35, wait a year

No one will listen to your concerns before a year

I know something isn’t right before we start, something has never been right

I always knew it would take time, but how long?

At a year, have your doctor tells you she won't even see you to discuss if you haven't lost X amount of pounds

Invalidated before you even begin

Reduced to a risk factor, a summation of body parts

Not a person

Let self hate creep in again, fear talking to anyone else

You're obviously too screwed up for this dream to happen to you. 

The lies in your head get louder, the ones that have been whispered and screamed to you for so long

Your worth is a number on a scale. 

Wait. Pull yourself back together.

Someone has to believe in you. Fertility clinics are more equipped than your regular OBGYN

Call a fertility clinic to make an appointment, terrified to be that broken to need their help

 Terrified to be dismissed again, but holding on to what little hope you have

Fertility clinic. Weight. Blood pressure. 

"Why is your blood pressure so high"? "I'm having a panic attack." "What are you anxious about?" "What am I not anxious about?"

Meet with the fertility doctor. She encourages you that the other doctor was wrong. 

This is her specialty. 

She has hope. But we need to run tests. 

Blood tests. Ultrasounds. Multiple. 

Who are these ultrasound techs? Why are strangers touching me? 

Am I safe? Why does no one else understand my anxiety? Stop touching me. 

So many new people at this clinic. So many unfamiliar faces wanting a piece of my body.

This is everyday for them. This feels like trauma to me.

Numbers. Results. 

AMH/TSH/Prolactin/Hemoglobin A1C/Mean Blood Glucose/ABO RH/Rubella, IgG/Vericella Zoster, IgG

What does it all mean? 

Am I normal?

Why is that number high? 

Is “positive” good or bad?

Is my body broken?

Sperm test - the one and only test for him. He tries to act like it's not a big deal. 

It is. 

He's nervous, too. 

His numbers look great.  

But that confirms what I always knew, the problem is with me. 

I'm broken, just as I suspected. 

Why are some of my numbers off? Doctor isn't concerned. 

We know we'll start with IUI. 

She wants one more test. Hysterosalpingography (HSG). It’s optional for now.

She says it's not bad for most people. 

I'd have to go alone. Alex can't be in there for the test. 

Two friends share their horror stories. 

I can't move forward. My body is tired of being invaded. My body doesn't think we are safe. I can't convince it otherwise. For now, it's too much. 

PTSD is too much sometimes.

We step back. Take a break. 

More friends are having babies

*Outside voices* “You’re not getting any younger”

“Don’t wait too long to start a family”

I hear, “You’re too old. What’s wrong with you that you’re not pregnant yet?"

II

New OBGYN. 

I need to be a person, an entire person, not just a combination of body parts and risk factors. 

She sees me as a person. She validates, listens, cares. I finally relax. 

She tells me it's ok to get a second opinion. 

New fertility clinic. Second first appointment. More anxiety. 

New fertility doctor. We meet virtually. 

She's trauma informed. 

She hears me. She validates me. She sees me. I breathe again. 

Fertility doctor wants the Hysterosalpingography (HSG). I’ve already mentally prepared for this. 

Alex can be there. She will do the procedure herself. No strangers. 

Drive to Greenville

Anxiety meds don't work. They were a gamble. 

They would knock most people to the ground, but for me they do nothing. 

Panic attack. Meltdown. Trauma brain takes over. 

Alex holds me and says all the things I need to hear, all the things we’ve practiced

Meet my new doctor in person during panic attack.

She doesn't look away, doesn't dismiss me. She sees me. 

No invalidating platitudes

She asks how to make me feel safe. Explains everything. Gives me a voice.

I am safe. 

I make it through the procedure. Results were good. 

I feel empowered. I am not completely broken. 

Blood tests. Ultrasounds. We need updated results.

AMH/TSH/Prolactin/Hemoglobin A1C/Mean Blood Glucose/ABO RH/Rubella, IgG/Vericella Zoster, IgG

Familiar now but still a language I don't understand

Doctor breaks down everything. We talk about the big picture.

She puts the puzzle pieces together. I'm 36. No one has put the pieces together before.

PCOS. Polycystic ovarian syndrome.  

Explains so many things 

Answers are empowering

Others have this. Others who have this get pregnant. Others who have this have babies. 

Now we know how to move forward

"I want to be sensitive. I would like you to lose some weight, but I know how hard it has been. Would you be ok with help?"

No shame. No guilt. Just compassion and hope for me. 

My weight is only a number. It is not my identity. 

I put in the hard work. I accept the help. I lose the weight.

Doctor is continually encouraging. She's happy with the results.

We can move forward. But when? When am I ready?

Meanwhile friends get pregnant and “just don’t know how it happened”

Some over and over again

Friends who planned and started trying with us get pregnant in mere months

Always hoping we’ll be pregnant together

Always them moving on without me

4 years of watching other’s lives pass us by

Friends pregnant

Babies now 1, 2, 3, 4

Still we wait for our turn

Try to celebrate their joy

Love them as best we can

Love their babies as best we can

But it aches

We stumble over and over

Somedays I have to step away to hide the tears

Somedays I accept this normal

That this will never be me

Watching others live my dreams

We snuggle babies and toddlers at church.

Not our own, but we love them still.

I watch how my husband loves and nurtures

Any baby of ours will be so lucky to have him as a father

How I ache to see him as a father

Baby pukes, diaper blowout, toddler screams, something breaks 

“Are you ready for this?” Say the parents sarcastically

Parents looking for someone to share in their suffering, share in the hard moments

We want to share in all of the moments

*Outside voices* “Just lose 10 pounds.”

“Just relax and enjoy it.”

“Have fun.”

“Are you having enough sex?”

They giggle like this is just a sex party for us

I hear, “You’re too fat. You’re too messed up, why can’t you control your anxiety yet?”

I hear, “You can’t get anything right.”

Most are well meaning, but words won’t fix it

They don’t know what it’s like on this side of infertility

III

Here we go

IUI. Interuterine Insemination. 

Let’s do this. Doctor is confident and hopeful. 

Round 1

Letrozole for 5 days. Used in cancer patients and also for fertility. Sickness and health. 

Wait

Internal ultrasound to determine size of ovarian follicles 

Alex has to be there. We come up with a checklist to keep me grounded. 

Trauma brain shows up. I don't meltdown. 

Let’s consider this a science project. 

Get to see my ovaries. See the follicles that should soon release an egg.

My body is pretty neat sometimes

I ask questions. This helps me feel in control. 

We are given the next set of instructions.

Timed trigger shot to release egg(s) within 36 hours

Timed adult activities

Times where adult activities are restricted 

“Collection” of sperm. This gets to be done alone. 

Unlike my part, his doesn’t require his body being poked and prodded

Still so much pressure to perform

Processing of sperm. A machine removes the extra and leaves just what’s important.

We learn the sperm count. He can’t control that anymore than I can control my body getting pregnant.

Everything is science now. There’s no romance in this.

There’s no romance in trying to get pregnant with 2 medical professionals in the room

Alex has to be there. For his part, but also for me. He is my safety. He is my calm. 

Physician's Assistant is trauma informed. 

We use grounding techniques.

I watch on the screen as the catheter enters my uterus and releases the sperm.

I ask questions. 

This is my choice. This is my body. 

No one wants to hurt me here. I am safe.

My voice matters in this room

I feel empowered

I have hope

Then timed adult activities 

Daily progesterone 

Wait

Wait

Wait

Two weeks of excruciating waiting

Hope

Pregnancy test negative

Hope disappates

Wait for period 

Start round 2

Add daily ovulation tests

Add more grounding techniques for invasive procedures.

Wait

Hope

Pregnancy test negative

Hope gone

Start round 3

Wait

Hope

Pregnancy test negative

Hope lost

We are given the option of a round 4. Yes. Let's go. Can’t miss this chance.

Start round 4

Wait

Hope

Pregnancy test negative

Hope is not a word I can utter now

We have to regroup

Our small medical team feels safe but still

Trauma brain shows up with every procedure

Same people every time

They know what I need but

PTSD is relentless

I am stronger still….

Am I?

I want to be stronger

I’m tired of fighting

I can’t get away from myself

My own mind is unrelenting

Everything feels like danger

Nothing feels safe

I am hypervigilant

I don’t feel like I own my body anymore

It feels like public property

My brain recognizes this feeling

It feels like trauma, though it is not this time

How does my body know the difference?

My body tires

My soul tires

I scream prayers

I yell at God

This isn’t fair

Why me?

Hope dissipates more with each round

This is exhausting

This is all consuming

Everyone in our circle knows what we are facing

We need support. We need prayers.

We cry out to God together and alone

Every negative result confirms what I believe about myself. 

That I am broken.

That I am damaged.

That I’m not worthy of being a mother.

This thing my body was made to do, it will not.

Who am I if this can’t happen?

Things that were once taboo are now dinnertime conversation

Ovulation, ultrasounds, periods, sperm count

Others are uncomfortable

It’s just science

Getting pregnant in the privacy of your home or the white walls of a medical office

Requires the same basic formula

My formula just has a few more steps, 

A few more people in the room

Our private life feels public

Now everyone knows we have sex

We are married. We are adults. This should be obvious.

I still feel shame. 

But now what was once for fun is prescribed

It’s mechanical

Its purpose is different

It’s a reminder that my body won’t do what it was made to do

That I’m still different

This, too, is shameful

The shame grows and expands in my mind like a virus

My inner voice continues to call me “broken”

*Outside voices* “It’ll happen in God’s timing.” 

We have to decide the timing. We only have so many chances. 

Often God requires us to take a step and He meets us there

“Have you considered adoption? There are so many babies who need homes.”

It’s not that easy. This isn’t like bringing home a puppy. 

“Maybe you’ll have twins!”

Please stop.

“Maybe mother nature is saying you shouldn’t have a baby.”

Some words should never be said.

IV

Regroup

Meet with doctor

Review each round

Uterine lining, sperm count, egg count, ovulation timing, cycle length

Every round looks great

But has my body created any great cycles without this help

Or have these 4 months been the only time with real hope

With PCOS we just don’t know

Let’s keep trying

Doctor still has the hope I have lost

We’ll get two more tries

Up the medication

Up the chances

Two more tries before we make new decisions

I can’t let my brain spiral

Focus on the step in front of me

Back at it

Haven’t had a break since this began

I am weary

Alex feels all the weight of my weariness

Start round 5

Wait

Hope 

Pregnancy test negative

How can I hope again?

I’m breaking little by little

One more chance

Start round 6

The timing is different

Timing is everything

My anxiety is worse

So much pressure on this round

Everything has to be perfect

This is our last chance

We have to go to Greenville

New strangers touching me

No, my doctor is on call

She will do the IUI

I’ve put her through the fire already

She is safe

I’m too afraid to hope again

Wait…..

What does forgiveness mean to me? The letters I mailed

I did not start counseling planning to forgive Xavier and Tim. In fact, I had decided that if Heather brought it up quickly, we would be done. Forgiveness had left a bad taste in my mouth, and it wasn't something I wanted much to do with. There's a very unhealthy and harmful mentality among some Christians that goes something like this: Forgive or Christ won't forgive you. While scripture is mentioned, it is weaponized against victims because it is easier than facing the truth of the harm and digging into the muck of true forgiveness. In too many churches, victims are pushed to quickly say the words, "I forgive you," without having time to even understand what they are forgiving, as if that will make everything go back to normal. Even still, everyone is satisfied that the abused person has forgiven as they should, and then they pretend the abuse never happened. The victim is hastily pushed to be the one to keep the peace, as if the pain they are feeling is all their fault to begin with, and thus they are re-victimized by having all of the "healing" placed on their shoulders. The abuser has also hastily said words such as "I am sorry," even if they have done nothing to prove repentance or to make amends. Safeguards are not put in place to protect future victims because the abuser has "apologized." It readies the way for the abuser to have continued access to potential victims because most believe that whatever happened is in the past. Forgiveness is tossed around like a magical bandaid, leaving the victims silenced and the perpetrators able to abuse again. Even in my brokenness, I knew I wanted nothing to do with this kind of fake forgiveness.

True forgiveness is not the same as forgetting.  Forgiveness is not the same as reconciliation.  Forgiveness does not mean that the person should not be held accountable for their actions or that others should not still be protected. In order to forgive, you must first face the damage that was done. You cannot forgive if you do not know what you are forgiving for. True forgiveness relies only on the person who was hurt, it does not depend on the person who did the hurting. On the other hand, reconciliation requires repentance - apology and changed actions from the offender with healthy boundaries and safeguards in place. Reconciliation requires all people involved, but forgiveness can be given no matter what is going on with the other person. For me, forgiveness does not mean I would ever have any relationship or reconciliation with Xavier or Tim if given the chance, because I do not hold on to any hope of repentance from them (and even if they did offer repentance, I would still have a choice as to what I allowed into my life again and what would be healthy or unhealthy, safe or unsafe).

Forgiveness means releasing the person to God for what they have done. Instead of wishing they would fall into a bottomless sinkhole or be hit by a speeding bus, you pray for their own hearts to be healed. Instead of wishing their insides would be severed slowly by one hundred dull knives, you trust God to be the ultimate judge, with or without earthly justice. Instead of hoping everyone they love would leave them and their house would explode from a meteor strike, you truly hope and pray that they would experience the love of Christ and let Him change their hearts. It's taking the knife out of your own hand and giving it to God. (Please note that this is separate from getting the authorities involved, making sure others are protected, putting boundaries in place....the list goes on and on.) 

As it turned out, Heather never pushed me to forgive. In fact, it wasn't until God starting working in my heart and I brought it up that she broached the topic. We were almost three years into counseling at that point. Heather very much believed in forgiveness, but she knew the decision could only be mine. She was familiar with the harm that would be done if I was forced into a "brush it under the rug" type of forgiveness. 

I held on to anger because it seemed justified. It was. I was justified in being angry over the terrible things that were done to me. Anger is a healthy and important emotion. But part of holding on to that anger was a feeling of, "Don't you see what you've done to me, Xavier? Don't you see what you've done to me, Tim?" Thinking about them. Focusing my anger on them. On the other end of that, it is very unlikely they think about me at all. That anger was only hurting me. Part of the intent was to hurt them, but they weren't impacted at all. So what happened when I focused my anger on them, focused on them? They took even more of my time, even more of my emotional energy. They stole even more from me than they already had. If I let them continue to steal from me, they won. My life would be defined by them. If they destroyed me, if I let that anger destroy me, Xavier and Tim would win. And not only would they win, they wouldn't even know they had won. Even if I was able to get the revenge I so often let play through my head, if I was able to hurt them back, then what? I would be no better than they were. I would stoop to their level. So what if, instead, I was able to live my life despite what they had done? What if I would truly win by rising above their power and control, no longer being silenced by them? What if winning meant bringing to light what they intended to forever keep in darkness, bringing the truth to light?

Forgiveness only involves the person hurt, but what about when the authorities should get involved? Forgiveness does not mean preventing justice. Due to Tim's actions and choices and the decision of a judge, Tim is in jail for another 7 years of the 21 year sentence he will serve (of his 25 assigned). Once he is released, he will be monitored for the rest of his life. This is the earthly justice he was given. It has nothing to do with his actions towards me, but still, I am thankful he is being kept away from being able to hurt others. I still hope to never have to see him again, I still hope he does not move back to my hometown when he gets out of prison, I hope he is never able to hurt another child again. Xavier has not yet done something that has been provable in court, or he has at least not gotten caught. I wonder who all he has hurt, who all he will continue to hurt as long as he is not stopped. Sexual abuse and emotional abuse are extremely hard to prove in court. Often it is one person's word against another's. The abused person has to relive and retell every single detail of their abuse over and over again, many times in front of the person who abused them. Many times every detail of their lives is scrutinized, their character is scrutinized, and they may not be believed if they don't remember specific details from the time of their abuse. It is as if they are on trial along with their abuser. That can be re-traumatizing, which is one of many reasons victims rarely come forward. The percentage of abusers who are ever caught is very low, and the percentage who see any kind of time behind bars is even lower. Out of 1000 sexual assaults, only 25 perpetrators will be incarcerated for any period of time (https://www.rainn.org/statistics/criminal-justice-system). The system for protecting victims and stopping offenders needs a lot of work. I greatly respect anyone who has gone to the authorities, anyone who is fighting for justice, but I also have so much compassion for those who were never able to. Those who are able to fight for justice fight for all of us and pave a way for other victims to seek justice in the future. 

I began to try to find the "why" behind what was done to me. I needed an explanation, even though it was unlikely I would ever get one that satisfied me. Somewhere in that muck and the mire, after digging through all that Xavier had done to me, all the wounds he had caused, I started seeing him more clearly. Not just why he abused me in the moment, but how he got there. I started wondering about the man behind the monster in my memories.

Xavier, and likely Tim as well, was a narcissist when he was victimizing me. Narcissists crave control and lack empathy.  Beneath their outer shell, they fear inadequacy and rejection. As an example, perhaps they have been abandoned or rejected. If you have been abandoned or rejected, the fear of having that happen again can cause some people to want to control the next relationships to prevent that same pain. The more you can control someone, the more you can convince them that they don't deserve any better than you, and the less likely they are to leave and reject you. In this way, you think you can protect yourself from future wounds.

The story Xavier always told was that his father did not want another child after his older brother. He told Xavier's mom that he would leave if she had Xavier.  She gave birth to Xavier, and Xavier's father left; he left because she gave birth to Xavier.  It's hard to know the truth of anything Xavier told me, as I have found lies behind much of what he told me, but I do know that Xavier was raised by a single Mom, his father was not involved, and I've found multiple other families his biological father had. The story that Xavier's father left because he was born seemed so ingrained in him.  I don't know if it was true, but let's assume that it was. It makes me wonder when he was told that story, who told him. Was that always the story told? And if so, what did that do to the little boy he once was? Would he have grown up believing that his very own existence was the reason his family was split? That his very own existence caused his brother to lose his father, his Mom to lose her husband? What would that have done to his developing heart? Likewise, what would that belief have done to his older brother, the brother who had also been told that his father left because his little brother was born? How would that have impacted their relationship? How was his Mom able to continue parenting two little boys while managing her own deep wounds? The damage caused by Xavier's father leaving must have been extreme.

A strange thing happened as we started piecing together what I knew about Xavier's story. I started to realize that I, too, can have gone down the path to hurt others. If Xavier was wounded himself and then wounded me, what could I have then done out of my own wounds? Who did I pass my wounds onto? Who did I hurt? When I realized that I could have done awful things, that I could have become like my abuser, that I could have continued abusing others, it created compassion. It shook me to my core, that I could have harmed as I had been harmed. I did not take the path Xavier took, I did not become him, but still I could see things in myself that I did not like, things I was not proud of. In some small way, I could relate to my abuser. It was extremely humbling. Hurting people hurt people. Somewhere in all my assessing, I realized there was a human behind the narcissist, a human behind the abuser. Xavier was a person outside of who he was to me. He did not live in the box he lived in my head. 

Tim was harder to understand. I knew his parents. His mother had practically helped raise me, and I had known his father but did not remember him. How did he become such a monster? What led him to that place? How did Tim become a predator? Learning to have compassion for Xavier taught me a lot about having compassion even if I could not make sense of why I had been targeted and abused. God began to work on my heart even with Tim. I really cannot explain rationally the work God began in me. It does not rationally make sense that I could feel anything but revenge towards him, but yet, I found myself truly praying that Tim would experience the love of Christ, without having to pray it through clenched teeth and hatred in my eyes. 

In order to forgive, I needed to know that what happened to me mattered. I needed my pain to be validated. I could not let go until it had gotten the attention it deserved. For so long I'd felt crazy for not being able to let go of what happened, I'd felt crazy for not having the language to explain what happened. I couldn't let go because I couldn't even define the deep wounds I felt. My voice was weak, I had been silenced by Xavier, and it seemed I had to fight for myself when I barely had the strength because no one else would fight for me. In the years of counseling with Heather, she validated me. She validated my pain. She had fought for me in ways my heart needed, in the ways she got angry for me, in the ways she nurtured my heart. My husband had also learned how to validate my pain, how to walk with me through my healing. He had shown his anger towards my abusers, anger I so desperately needed to see. I had seen the love and fear in his eyes that so desperately wanted to protect me when I was triggered. I had opened up to friends in ways I had not been able to before, I had learned that I was not alone, and I had begun to gain back my voice so I could speak up for myself again. I was finally truly heard. My pain mattered. It always had, but I had not always known that it mattered. My abuse mattered. I was not crazy for the ways I had tried to self soothe. I was not crazy for still holding on to my pain. I was not crazy for the ways my body responded to things I could not control. I no longer felt like I had to stand on a mountain and scream that my pain mattered to feel heard. It was safe to let go because it was no longer just me that was validating my story. 

Once I came to the point of wanting to forgive, Heather suggested I write letters to Xavier and Tim. At first, I thought these were just for me, as were all of the prior letters I had written in counseling. But this time she told me we were going to send the letters. I laughed like that was a joke, then I panicked when I realized it was not, then I started to feel empowered, excited to use my voice towards the people who had stolen my voice. She suggested I physically mail the letters instead of emailing them or sending them through a social media platform. I could easily find a mailing address for Tim in prison, but all I knew for Xavier was his place of work, so I used that address. I spent weeks working on the letters, calculating every word, reading them aloud to Heather. I told Heather I would not be able to mail them without her, so she met me at the Post Office one afternoon and physically walked with me through mailing them while my anxiety was through the roof. Being brave doesn't mean not being scared. I absolutely mailed those while scared AND brave.

Heather and me in line at the Post Office waiting to mail my letters

Mailing the letters was temporarily magical, but as with this entire journey, forgiveness is a process. Some days I still pick up the wounds, let them fester, and decide to live in the anger. Other days I feel the freedom of forgiveness and remember to pray for Xavier and Tim. Some days I am able to separate the wounds from my abusers, but other days I would prefer to turn their pictures into dart boards. However, more and more I choose forgiveness for Xavier and Tim. More and more I am able to separate them from the wounds I am still tending to.

I tracked the letters to Xavier and Tim so I could make sure they were delivered, but without actually speaking to them, I do not actually know if they were received or read. So here they are. If Xavier or Tim ever run across this blog, they will be here for them. They know who they are, therefore I will continue to use pseudonyms for Xavier and all involved. Tim's name is not a pseudonym.

Xavier,

It’s been 15 years since we met,14 years since we last spoke, and 12 years since I last saw you. You've taken up way too much of my thoughts these last 15 years, and I've hardly gone a day without you crossing my mind. I imagine you haven't even considered a thought about me in many, many years. I didn't steal from your life, you stole from mine. But now it's time for me to take my life back. You don't deserve to take up any more of my life.

You were 19, I was barely 17. I don't know why you picked me, but I have my guesses. I don't know how you convinced Meira to introduce us, I wonder how that conversation went. I don't know how you convinced her it was ok, I imagine it was similar to how you tried to convince me it was ok, you didn't give her a choice. I now know you'd done this before. I wasn't your first, and I wasn't your last. You'd already started a pattern by the time we met, and I fit right into it.

You fed me lies. It was like you'd read the book on narcissism and emotional abuse, and I'd only read romance novels and watched chic flicks. You were so convincing. I was so vulnerable. You told me you cared, you told me it was ok, you told me you loved me. I believed you. I was so naive and you knew it. The target was painted on me.

I'm still angry. At the things you did to me. At the things you made me do to you. I didn't want that. I told you "no" and begged you to not demand it, but you did anyways. I went in your room a scared little girl and came out broken. You stole from me. My innocence. My senior year. Many years after that. You tore the 17 year old girl in two. I'll never forget those nights we had together, but their power is fading. I'll never forget the lies you taught me, but I won't believe them anymore.

You told me I had to be vulnerable with you to prove I trusted you. That was a lie. Love is patient. Love waits and doesn't push. I could have been vulnerable with my clothes on. I could have been vulnerable without you ever putting your hands on me. You told me that Meira wouldn't stay friends with someone who "hurt" you, and telling you "no" was "hurting" you. You trapped me and used her as bait. How cunning were you to have us both entwined in your chains? You told me you were trying to protect me from everyone else, that no one could love me like you did. But everyone else listened to my "no"s. Everyone else believed in me. Everyone else treated me like a person and not an object. I've found someone now who has shown me what love is. His love is patient, it is kind, it is forgiving. It's nothing like you could ever be. He loves me like you never could. You were wrong.

Your words carved scars in my soul. Your voice echoed in my head. For years. "You're just going to be a slut if you're not with me. The only thing I won't let you do is drink and have sex, so that must be why you want to get away from me. To have sex and get drunk." You, the one who made me go farther than I wanted to go, hurled venom into my mind, making me believe I was someone that I wasn't. You were wrong. I wanted freedom. I wanted to be heard. I wanted my voice back. You made me believe my self worth was in what I could offer sexually, despite that you told me it was never sexual. You nearly destroyed me. Then you turned everyone against me. You made everyone believe I was the bad guy. You blinded everyone so that you could get away with whatever you wanted. No more. You don't get to win anymore.

Now I can see your brokenness. Now I can see the broken boy who thought he needed to demand love because he couldn't get it any other way. I can see the broken boy who was abandoned by his father, who never knew his father, how much those wounds would have scarred you, how much they would have been written on you like a banner for all to see. How much were you blamed? Behind your venom and your anger and your manipulation, I see a boy who was afraid. Who was afraid that if he gave anyone the choice, they, too, would leave him. I wonder what else happened to you. Were you, too, abused? Were you forced? Was your childhood stolen from you, too? Were you just doing to me what had been done to you? Were you trying to gain back the power that had been stolen from you over your own body?

You don't get to steal from me anymore. You don't get to win anymore. You tore me apart, but Jesus put me back together. I could have become you out of my own pain. I could have continued the pattern, but it stops with me. It's taken a lot of hard work to reverse what you did to me, but what you destroyed in me is being made whole again, only I'm stronger now. This story, the story of us, the story of what you did to me, it's not mine anymore. This is God's story of redemption, and I trust He will use it to show others that there is healing. I'm not afraid of people finding out anymore. I don't carry the shame anymore that you put on me, I've let it go, it was a lie to begin with.

The wreckage you've created will catch up with you one day. I pray for you that you'll stop running from your pain, that you'll stop controlling and abusing everyone around you to protect yourself. But finally....I forgive you. I'm not excusing anything you did to me. I’m not minimizing it. What you did to me was wrong. The wounds you caused were real. But I'm releasing you. I hope and pray that you stop wounding others and allow God to work in your heart to heal the wounds you have. Jesus's blood is enough to cover your sins as well as my own. I pray that you can find healing and accept the mercy and grace of Jesus. I forgive you because not forgiving you is holding on, and you don't deserve any more of my time or energy.

Amy

Tim,

I see 14 year olds now, and I realize how young they are. Children. Teenagers. Just figuring out who they are. At the time, when I was 14, I felt mature, more mature than my years, as if I had anything to compare it to. So many years ago now, you told me I was mature, you told me I wasn't like other kids, that I was an adult trapped in a child's body. Because you were the adult, I believed you. How poisonous were your words. I was solidly 14, you were turning 40. 26 years older than I was. Almost three times my young age, and you tried to steal my childhood. I!n some ways, you still did, without even touching me.

Your lies. Oh how you groomed me. You told me my parents didn't understand me, but that you did. You listened to me. You treated me like an equal. All to hook me, all to get me to trust you. Your hugs begun to linger, you asked what I would do if you kissed me, I said I didn't know. You talked about us running away to Europe together once I turned 18. But then you became impatient. You told me you'd had a dream about me, that you'd left the door open for me, and you told me that was true, that the door was always open. You made it very clear that you were propositioning sex. To a 14 year old child. When the days passed and I hadn't given you an answer, you reminded me, made sure I hadn't forgotten. I hadn't. I still haven't. Multiple times you reminded me. I begun to be afraid of you. Suddenly you were the grown man trying to have sex with me, the teenager. You became more impatient, more prideful, less nice. Like you were getting tired of me if I wasn't going to give you what you ultimately desired. You wanted me to choose so that you could pretend it was my decision, so that you could say that it was my decision if you ever got caught. A 14 year old cannot make that decision when a 40 year old is asking. I know that now. The guilt you tried to place on me, the blame you tried to place on me was all a lie. The longer I avoided the decision, the more dangerous I realized you were, and t!he more afraid of you I became. Then I finally told my parents. 

When my Dad confronted you, you made me look like the bad guy. Then you yelled at me when I came into your yard, booming voice, threatening me if I ever set foot on your property again. You stopped going into your own front yard, seemingly stopped going outside, it was like an ocean had formed between our houses. You forbid your Mom from speaking to me. Your Mom, who had been like a grandmother to me for 14 years of my life, was stolen from me. You stole her from me. When you didn't get what you wanted, when my Dad told you to never come near me again, you had to protect yourself. I don't know what you told your Mom, but she never spoke to me again. I missed her, how desperately I missed her. How desperately lonely you made her. You, the one pursuing a 14 year old, made yourself look innocent and me guilty. Somehow you made it look like you were pursued, how cunning you were to make it appear that you were victimized by a 14 year old girl less than half your size. How pathetic. I didn't know what I had done wrong. What had I done wrong? Nothing. I wish I could tell that 14 year old girl that now, that 14 year old girl who grew up believing she had done something wrong. That 14 year old girl who thought something was so wrong with her that she was pursued by you. Who thought she was inherently dangerous because a 40 year wanted her that badly. I wish I could go back and tell my 14 year old self the truth now, that none of it was her fault, that nothing was wrong with her, but I will never get those years back.

What happens to a man to make him go after little girls? What happened to you that made you think it was ok to go after me? Did someone steal your childhood? If statistics are correct, you were acting out of what had been done to you. Maybe trying to make me feel the pain you yourself had felt. Maybe trying to take back the power that had been stolen from you. Or maybe you were simply acting out evil. 

 

Do not be mistaken, what you did to me was wrong. What you wanted to do with me was horrendous. You tried to destroy my childhood and me with it. But Jesus has been healing my heart, restoring the broken pieces. Now I see Jesus on the cross, naked and bleeding, crying out for forgiveness for the ones who put him there. Jesus asking for forgiveness for the ones who knew exactly what they were doing, the ones who were not sorry, who were not repentant. If Jesus can forgive the men who crucified him, I can forgive you. Now I am beginning to see beyond your actions, see how you were a vessel for evil to be done. I pray that Jesus leads you to repentance. I pray that you are able to come to the cross with humility and allow Jesus to heal you from the inside out. I forgive you for what you did to me, for what you tried to do to me. I'm not excusing it, I'm not pretending it was ok. I'm not minimizing it. But Jesus's blood is enough to cover your sins as well as my own. I pray that you can find healing and accept the mercy and grace of Jesus. I forgive you because not forgiving you is holding on, and you don't deserve any more of my time or energy.

Amy 

 

 

 

 

 

"And if you tenderly care for this little one on my behalf, you are tenderly caring for me. But if anyone abuses one of these little ones who believes in me, it would be better for him to have a heavy boulder tied around his neck and be hurled into the deepest sea than to face the punishment he deserves! Misery will come to the one who lures people away into sin. Troubles and obstacles to your faith are inevitable, but great devastation will come to the one guilty of causing others to stumble!"  Matthew 18: 5-7 TPT

 

For we must all stand before Christ to be judged. We will each receive whatever we deserve for the good or evil we have done in this earthly body.  2 Corinthians 5:10 NLT

 

God is an honest judge. He is angry with the wicked every day.  Psalm 7:11 NLT

 

Don’t just pretend to love others. Really love them. Hate what is wrong. Hold tightly to what is good. Love each other with genuine affection, and take delight in honoring each other. Romans 12: 9-10 NLT

 

Never pay back evil with more evil. Do things in such a way that everyone can see you are honorable. Do all that you can to live in peace with everyone. Dear friends, never take revenge. Leave that to the righteous anger of God. For the Scriptures say,

“I will take revenge;
    I will pay them back,”
    says the Lord.

Instead,

“If your enemies are hungry, feed them.
    If they are thirsty, give them something to drink.
In doing this, you will heap
    burning coals of shame on their heads.”

Don’t let evil conquer you, but conquer evil by doing good. 

Romans 12: 17-21 NLT

"The way you want others to treat you is how you should treat everyone else. Are you really showing true love by loving only those who love you? Even those who don’t know God will do that. Are you really showing compassion when you do good deeds only to those who do good deeds to you? Even those who don’t know God will do that." Luke 6: 31-33 TPT

When they came to a place called The Skull, they nailed him to the cross. And the criminals were also crucified—one on his right and one on his left. Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing.” And the soldiers gambled for his clothes by throwing dice. Luke 23: 33-34 NLT

You were running the race so well. Who has held you back from following the truth? It certainly isn’t God, for he is the one who called you to freedom. This false teaching is like a little yeast that spreads through the whole batch of dough! I am trusting the Lord to keep you from believing false teachings. God will judge that person, whoever he is, who has been confusing you. Galatians 5: 7-10 NLT