A Survivor's Secrets by Gina Cavallo & Cindy Lambert

Author:Gina Cavallo & Cindy Lambert [Cavallo, Gina & Lambert, Cindy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: RELIGION / Christian Living / Women's Interests, RELIGION / Christian Living / Social Issues
ISBN: 9781684285174
Publisher: Focus on the Family
Published: 2024-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

Part 5 Invisible Chains

1975–2016

13Secrets

There are two kinds of secrets. The ones we keep from others and the ones we keep from ourselves.

FRANK WARREN

HAD ANYONE NOTICED ME stepping off that plane in Newark, they’d have seen a hollow-eyed twenty-three-year-old in a short, tight skirt, low-cut blouse, and platform shoes, apparently traveling light. No luggage. No carry-on. Not even a purse.

But I certainly didn’t feel like I was traveling light. I was bound head to toe in thick, heavy chains, and dragging more behind me. Invisible chains, yes. But real nonetheless.

As my story has shown, every link of those chains had a story to tell. Some of those links had been hung on me in childhood with name-calling and insults, assault and abuse, creating chains of worthlessness and fear and shame. More links had been added with molestation, humiliation, mockery, and failure, interlinked with anger, resentment, bitterness, self-pity, and swallowed rage. Some were wrapped around my neck, leaving me strangled and voiceless. Clueless, I’d dragged those chains with me to Florida, where the links of self-blame and self-recrimination multiplied with every victimization I experienced. I was to blame. I had it coming. I was the stupid one. I was trouble. I deserved this. The problem was me. The fault was mine.

I arrived “home” feeling no sense of homecoming at all. After all, I’d been fleeing home when I’d moved in with Charlie. That now seemed a lifetime ago. For what it’s worth, my perception—which may not have been worth much given my condition—was that my homecoming was seen more as a disruption to the family than a relief. No one knew my story, and to my surprise, absolutely no one asked! Not one single person.

As far as my family was concerned, I’d run off to Florida, landed in trouble, become a prostitute, and finally come home a broken failure who had shamed my family’s reputation. And because I was so filled with self-disgust, I was too voiceless to tell my story. I wouldn’t have known where to even begin. And who would have believed it anyway? Even if they’d decided I was telling the truth, having others know what had taken place would just have multiplied my shame. They never would have been able to look at me again without thinking about how stupid and gullible I’d been to get abducted—multiple times—and how disgusting it was that I’d allowed my body to be repeatedly used and abused.

Even so, on one occasion, I decided to take the risk of telling a member of my family. “I’d really like to share with you what happened to me during that time I was away,” I said. My heart was pounding so hard that I was afraid I was going to pass out.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “You were a prostitute. A prostitute is a prostitute is a prostitute.”

I didn’t know what to say. After that, she gave me the silent treatment—a common form of abuse used by my various family members. A short time later, she left town, and that’s how our friendship ended.

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