I am an incest survivor

I am an incest survivor.

Just saying it, out loud, alone in this room, is having a visceral effect on me. As if something inside is ever-so-slowly releasing.

I am an incest survivor, and not in the past tense. As I long as I live and breathe, I am an incest survivor, and I have to do what it takes to continue surviving. So now I am writing this.

The post I shared yesterday was actually an email I sent to Marilyn van Derbur. I found her when I was looking for help online. There isn’t much out there. Survivors of Incest Anonymous seems to have fallen silent. There are no support groups near me. There aren’t enough members to keep one going at the Barbara Sinatra Center, and they have no therapists or resources to recommend. Sarambula-at-emc.org said she would send me some information. She did not.

I don’t take this mean that there are not enough incest survivors to merit support groups. I take this as evidence of the sheer physical and emotional difficulty of embodying this truth. Of giving a voice to the child whose very right to her own body was violated.

Marilyn van Derbur is a former Miss America and a motivational speaker. She was outed as an incest survivor when she was 53 years old. She is now 80. She says she has answered emails from thousands of survivors. She answered mine.

“Dear Deborah, “Thank you for trusting me. I understand viscerally.

“I was 53 before I was finally able to let go of shame and anger and overwhelming anxiety.

“I am so grateful this wonderful man has come into your life. How I wish it were possible to just bury the feelings and ‘move on.’ Unfortunately, the stuffed down feelings need light.

“I’m always here.
Blessings
Marilyn”

I’ve never buried anything or forgot it, although there is dissociation, which could be why my back and the back of my scalp have been itching mercilessly for weeks now.

I was on my back in the hay. He was on top of me.

I am still trying to get the feeling of the hay off of me.

And I am still trying to find help. I am trying to find a female doctor in my insurance network to make sure my lungs are clear. My immune system is being compromised by the memories. The only time I was safe in that house is when I was sick. The first doctor has a concierge-only practice for an additional $2,500 a year. The second one I called went to a switchboard. I reached out to a friend in medical IT. An old therapist. A friend who is a massage therapist.

And so it goes. I am an incest survivor, and I am legion. “Every eight minutes, child protective services substantiates, or finds evidence for, a claim of child sexual abuse,” according to the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network. Every eight minutes. Yet no one wants to talk about this. After an initial #MeToo social media post, crickets.

I am not giving up, and if you’re reading this and can relate, then you shouldn’t either. Watch this interview with Marilyn van Derbur on local news last November, and this speech she gave to a group in Denver. Write to her. Tell someone. Speak your truth. Out loud. If there is no one else there to hear it, at least you will, and in doing so, the grip it has on your life will slowly begin to let go.

“I am an incest survivor.”