To believe or not to believe

The other day, someone asked me what I thought about MacKenzie Phillips confession on Oprah. The person–an acquaintance–went on to say it would be a terrible thing if MacKenzie were just making it up for money, and that it’s hard to believe someone who has such a history of drug abuse and mental illness.

I don’t know this person enough to know if she knows about my blog or my past. Certainly, I make no attempt to hide my history of incest from the public.

Yet, the question rattled me.

“Um, well, um, I think it was brave of her to come forward like that.”

Then I changed the subject.

My stammered, clammy reaction made me feel like a betrayor of the community of survivors I am devoted to reaching here and whenever I’m asked to talk about the subject. I’m still beating myself up about the missed opportunity to share how much the world needs brave people like MacKenzie to come forward and tear the veil shrouding the silent epidemic of sexual abuse in America . . . how it’s no wonder MacKenzie has had so many struggles . . .

. . . because incest hurts worse than most physical ailments and it cuts deeper than any other abuse.

At the same time, my reaction isn’t surprising. The only thing that hurts worse than incest is people not believing it happened to you. And so I type through tears today, knowing MacKenzie’s battle to heal has only just begun. 

Dan Allendar’s words from his book, The Wounded Heart, are so true:

In most cases, you would never suspect who has been abused. If asked directly, many would not recall past abuse; others would lie to avoid the shame of admitting that they were victims of one of the few crimes where the victim feels more shunned and rejected than the criminal. –p. 43

 I’ve found that to be the case myself. My confession seems to receive one of two responses: 1) I’m brave/it happened to me, too/thank you, thank you, thank you; or, 2) denial/disbelief/well that explains why she’s such a mess. Relatives seem to embrace #2—in particular those involved in protecting themselves because they were perpetrators, or those for whom “family dignity” is more precious than the healing of the victim. Some will never speak to me again, shunning me forever for breaking the massive secret that’s bound generations of my family in a grotesque ball of feigned righteousness, lies, deception and repeated cycles of abuse.

Oh yeah.

MacKenzie’s brave.

In her confession, she’s like the riders in Braveheart with their faces painted blue, screaming, “FREEDOM!” at the top of their lungs. Freedom for incest survivors trapped in the web of family secrecy that imprisons them and locks them in an inescapable dungeon of pain . . . hides them in the dark corners of generational attics and forbids them to speak, alas to even breathe.

MacKenzie’s past mistakes have no bearing on her confession. Indeed, they are further evidence of the truth of it. As Beverly Engel, author of The Right to Innocence: Healing the Trauma of Childhood Sexual Abuse writes:

Incest violates my capacity to validate my own perceptions and renders me incapable of trusting my own judgment….The abuser steals across boundaries, in effect negating my boundaries and steals all control over my own body, my own life. A life out of balance—a life of emotional behavioral and attitudinal extremes. Not a matter of conscious choice—I do not respond cleanly to the here and now. Love can threaten, Touch can burn. Caring can seem to violate. My reactions can come as a surprise, even to me, and be opposite of what I want them to be or of what reason and sanity say they ought to be. They told me I was crazy.

And the reaction of MacKenzie’s family, to date, is further evidence of truth as well. Sue Blume, author of Secret Survivors, writes:

Families often turn against the adult incest survivor who breaks the secret….enormous conflict accompanies this truth and the psyche fights it through attacking its messenger. They are protecting themselves in a more fundamental way. Incest often occurs through the generations. So do secrets, including the secrets we keep from ourselves. …if the “closeness” that she risks losing by telling is a closeness that was bought with her silence, it is built on a lie. She cannot trust it. She may live an illusion of family intimacy, but what she sacrifices for the label of “family” is any sense of trust, security, or honesty…. No perpetrator stops on his own. In breaking the secret, she has, finally, the power to break the chain. pp. 71-74

MacKenzie, if you happen to stumble upon my blog and read this, know I am standing with you, shoulder-to-shoulder, and heart-to-heart. On behalf of all those who are still afraid or unable to speak. And willing to take the knife of people saying I’m crazy or lying . . . people thinking I’m gross . . . people thinking whatever they want to think.

Because the world needs us, MacKenzie. The world needs you.

The world . . . full of survivors of this most heinous form of abuse . . . needs us to fight for the revelation of truth.