Our house was like a little farm in the city. There were chickens, ducks, geese,
rabbits, guinea pigs, hamsters, doves, a cockatiel, and my dog. Our land was
rich and our mother was famous for her “green thumb”. She loved to garden, her
hands cultivated many vegetables and fruit. Her hands worked the land for hours
on end, and she cared for all of our animals. With her hands, she fed us and
tended to our every need. My father was a machinist and could build anything
with his hands. In the back, he had a machine shop on the upper corner of our
land. The machines his hands worked with were big and loud, you couldn’t hear
anything outside of the shop. This was my home, my safe refuge full of endless
adventure.
Starting sixth grade meant new beginnings, a new school, and new friends all of
this was so exciting. I would come home from school and run to the mailbox
anxious to see if a new letter or postcard came addressed to me. My adrenaline
was always high; I was so full of energy. My life was perfect, I was happy. I was
also thrilled my older brother was getting out of the Marines and was coming
home for good. He was so smart, always helped me with my homework. We
played fun games like UNO, Monopoly, WAR, Checkers and, Tic-Tac-Toe. On the
Nintendo system, he could conquer all the levels on any game that you could
name. He was so cool and always made everything look so easy. I loved to
roller blade and ride my bicycle. It was his responsibility to watch me and to make
sure I didn’t get hurt. If and when I fell and hurt myself, he would clean my
wounds and apply the bandages. My older brother was my real-life superhero,
after all, he was a Marine and tough.
It’s common to pray to God for someone to return home safely when they are in
the military. Most often people pray when they want something, and they ask
God for it. Have you ever been grateful God didn’t answer your prayer? I prayed
many days for God not to let me wake up, that my eyes would not open again. I
didn’t want my life. My life changed in the blink of an eye. My experience was so
foreign and I no longer wanted any part of this thing called “life.” I was angry, I was
confused, I started to hate myself, and something had to be wrong with me.
From the outside looking at me, I appeared to be whole, however, on the inside, I
became a million shattered pieces. How could a touch that was warm,
comforting, and loving for so long become the hands of pain? Those hands
cared for me, made food to fill my hunger, made tasty rice crispy treats that were
perfect every time, they helped mold my volcano for science class, they held
mine when we crossed the street and when I was hurt they changed my
bandages. My hands were so small in comparison to those hands. Those hands
had more than a decade to become stronger than mine; those hands belonged to
a monster. A person who single handily changed my life forever with their hands.
How could a painless touch generate so much pain? The intention and actions
of those hands created a catastrophic storm filled with chaos, turmoil, hatred,
anger and brewed the question, “Why me?” I could scream from the top of
the highest mountain but my echoes would fall on deaf ears. I thought I was the
problem. How could I love someone knowing they became a real-life monster?
This monster authored and illustrated my night terrors, narrated the story of my
collapse. When I looked into any mirror I saw failure, I saw the person who
destroyed the most important thing in the world, her family. My hands trembled
when my monster's name was mentioned. He spent months explaining how his
hands were trained to kill and inflict pain. When I didn't listen, his hands would
discipline me, his voice would instruct me to do as he said, or else he would
show me what he was taught to do with his hands. He told me he knew how to
kill a person without them making a sound and I believed everything he said.
Who was this person? They weren’t who I remembered before they went off on a
mission to become a man. You were a man, old enough to sign up for the
military, fire a gun, buy cigarettes and drink alcohol, I was only a child who just
started wearing a training bra, my menarche hadn’t even occurred. I was an
innocent child. I always trusted you because you were my older brother - you
always protected me. What happened to you?
The abuse started shortly after your return. It started as verbal, then progressed
into psychological, slowly developing into physical, and finally ended with a
sexual abuse encounter. I was afraid of what you would do; you cultivated and
implanted fear into me. My father often thought we were siblings just bickering,
he thought any problems would be brought to his attention, but I couldn’t get to
him safely. I was terrified of what you would do to him and our mother. When I
didn’t listen to mom I would get sent to my room and you would physically punish
me and remind me of the ways you were taught to kill people with your hands.
The reminders were constant, you rarely let me out of your sight, and I listened to
what I was told because I was afraid of the consequences. I was ten when this
started, I hated everything and wanted it to go back to the way it was before you
went off to become a man.
There were a few times I would try to tell mom that you were hurting me and
scared me but before I could fully elaborate, you would talk over me in Korean, a
language that you and her could speak fluently together. It was obvious how
upset my actions made you but I was never granted the opportunity to spit out
what I needed to say. You prevented me. There was always an answer for my
behavior and how you would take care of it. My parents were clueless about the
control you gained over me. Then came a long holiday weekend, I was off from
school because of the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday. Never in my wildest
dreams could I ever imagine how my life would forever change. Upstairs in my
room, we were playing Nintendo and I fell asleep. You thought I was asleep, and
I pretended to be asleep because I didn’t know what you would do to me if I
made any sounds or appeared to be fully awake. In the past you told me if I said
anything to anyone to get you in trouble, you would kill my parents in front of me
and make me watch. I knew you knew how to, you put me in chokeholds before
and explained in just a few breaths I would no longer be able to feel anything and
my life was in your hands. You scared me. The ways you would describe your
power made me uncomfortable, you enjoyed terrorizing me. Late one evening
that holiday weekend, I became the subject of your curiosity, your hands glided
over my body caressing my developing breasts, moving my clothes out of your
way, and then you started kissing my body. You violated me and stole my
innocence as you molested me. I tried to keep calm, I tried to wiggle and pretend
I was still asleep because I was afraid if I made the smallest sound you would kill
me. I prayed in my head to God asking him to make you stop. My prayer was
answered you fixed my clothes and carried me to the other room. I lay in the bed
and prayed for strength and forgiveness. I could hear the television on
downstairs and knew my father was still awake. I needed the courage to make
that trek down that flight of stairs. I got up and walked down the stairs, walked
past my father, and proceeded to the bathroom. I pulled my underwear down as
I sat on the toilet and prayed. I prayed my pee would come and begged God to
forgive me. I didn’t want my parents to die because of me, I prayed to God to
help me. I needed strength that was greater than me, to wash my hands and go tell
my father what just happened and how you were touching my private parts.
Those places were my private areas and I knew you weren’t supposed to touch
any of them. Your hands navigated across my skin and violated every cell along
the path you touched. Until the day comes and I consume my final breath I will
remember how your hands and lips violated me. You were an adult and I was an
innocent child. That incident branded my soul and I was forever changed. My father
called you downstairs and asked if what I said was true. “Yes.” was your reply.
That was the ending of my abuse and the birth of the unknown trials resulting
from incestuous sexual abuse.
You were immediately kicked out of the home and within an hour you walked in
front of a semi-truck attempting to take your life. Our mother lost two of her
children that day. Her daughter would never be the same person she was before
and one of her sons was fighting for his life. My monster survived. My perfect
life was shattered and my safe refuge just became the birthplace of my trauma.
My protector betrayed me and used his hands to hurt me. However, my
heavenly father answered my prayers and protected my parents and me. My
father ended my abuse, removed my abuser and saved me, my true hero.
Enormous power is found in both hands and in words. Either can be used to
inflict hurt and pain or help and heal. The ultimate decision lies within each of us.
It’s our conscious deciding ability that determines the outcome of our intentional
actions. It has taken years for me to heal because incest creates a slew of
challenges. Those challenges come with a variety of triggers, constantly
navigating without a map or a compass stumbling along one step at a time.
Families aren’t equipped to defend against one of their own simply because we
are not taught about this form of threat. I hated myself for years because I still
loved my monster. How could I love someone who caused me so much pain and
suffering? My perfect life was destroyed, my family took a blow that we weren’t
prepared for, and our normalcy was shattered. I will always look to my father as
my greatest hero, he saved me and protected me to the best of his ability. My
parents couldn’t prevent what happened to me and I had no control over it. Their
trust was violated as well. Quickly I had to adapt without the resources or help
that I needed to process my trauma. You can’t escape the triggers of incest, but
you can learn how to respond to them and establish healthy boundaries. I
survived being assaulted by someone who was raised to protect me, that I was
raised to trust. I struggled in many areas with trust and I had to work hard to
process my trauma.
My scars that are beneath the surface can’t be seen. When people look at me
they aren’t aware I was abused by my brother or that I have an autoimmune
disease called Lupus that causes my body to attack itself. Those scars are
invisible to them. I am no longer defenseless, I have chosen to extend my hands
outward and help others. I am confident my story will provide hope and solace to
someone. I am so grateful God ignored my prayers and allowed my eyes to
open time after time. I fought and worked hard to establish this life that I now
have. My faith in God and my support system were my anchors at all times. I
am a Graceful Warrior fighting every day to be better than I was the day before. I
want to be the voice of hope, the face of courage, and the echo of strength; you
have the strength to overcome any obstacle or challenge that is presented to
you. In life, some circumstances are completely out of our hands, my abuse was
a decision another person made without my permission. I have accepted what
happened to me, and forgiven my abuser. I have chosen to focus on things in
my control and am committed to raising awareness about Child Sex Abuse,
Incest and Lupus.
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