When the Abuser Returns

Content Warning: Physical Abuse

Nestled under a blanket and comfortably seated on my couch, I was absorbed in a movie when I suddenly heard shouting. It wasn't the first time I'd heard the young woman scream angrily, but this time it felt different. She was enraged and sounded more aggressive towards her victim. Then, I heard a thud. I sat up quickly, discarding my blanket and listening closely. More screaming followed by another thud. The sounds weren't loud enough to be furniture moving or someone stomping their feet. It sounded like the weight and size of a person falling to the floor. Without thinking, I rushed to my front door and shouted, "Anyone need help?" I knew someone needed help, but I had no idea what would happen next. My heart raced as fear washed over me. I had forgotten the feeling, the terror, and panic as the bull saw red and spewed violence. Time seemed to stand still, and all other sounds went mute. An angry voice shouted back, "No. We. Do. Not." and the door slammed shut. I stood frozen for a moment. I knew what I should do. It wasn't complicated, but it felt that way. I waited and listened. The shouting subsided and turned into loud talking instead. Then, within moments, everything became eerily quiet. I closed my door, still holding my phone. My entire body trembled. Looking at my phone and trying to decide what to do, my hand shook so hard I had to hold it with my other hand so I would not drop it. Unable to sit, I paced my living room floor, all my senses heightened, listening for the smallest noise. They call it Sound-Evoking Memory. It is a powerful, sensory trigger that activates the brain's hippocampus and emotional center, suddenly linking current sounds with past experiences based on similar noises. 

The abuser knew they had been caught. I felt like they were listening for sirens, waiting to see the red and blue lights bouncing off the neighborhood homes. But I was frozen in fear and panic, as if my own abuser was right there in the house. Tears streamed down my face as my mind considered all the consequences of making that call. Simultaneously, I worried about the real victim and their safety. Had she really pushed them down, or was there another explanation? Using both hands to steady my cell phone, I messaged a friend, "Can you call me, please?"

That evening, I learned that even though I had forgiven my husband, my body had not forgotten the conditioned terror he created years ago. Twenty-six years had passed, and the sounds of abuse transformed me back into that scared twenty-four-year-old. 

Through counseling sessions, I learned that when we encounter trauma, a version of ourselves from that age is stored inside us. Our life goes on, but a version of ourselves freezes at that age and is tucked away, unhealed and often forgotten. We can forgive and try to forget, but those versions of ourselves stay stored in our bodies, never forgetting the pain they encountered. I had faced the seven-year-old me a couple of years ago. She was molested at age seven. In the session, we allowed her to say whatever she needed to. In my mind's eye and in another realm, I invited her to sit with me. I held her and told her that I loved her, giving her the much-needed love and compassion any seven-year-old needed after being sexually abused. In simple terms, I was the mother I needed back then. After several sessions with my seven-year-old self, giving her the time and love she needed, she can now be found dancing joyfully. 

Now it was time for this twenty-four-year-old, who needed the same love and care. I couldn't do that that night, not still under the umbrella of fear and panic. I continued to pace the floor for nearly two hours as I talked to my friend. I sobbed so hard you would think I had just been abused just moments before, but that was because my body thought it had. Forgiving him had not been enough. 

The next evening, I sat with my abused self from years ago. Like the seven-year-old, I told her that she was safe and loved. I held her and let all the pain and tears release. It was painful, but cleansing for my soul. Jesus appeared smiling at us both. He wrapped His arms around us. His all-consuming love radiated around us, creating a beautiful, soft golden glow. We both felt the warmth and care he had for us. She was finally free. She didn't have to be scared anymore. And it may take more than just one time, but she knows Jesus, and I are both here for her. She is not alone anymore and does not have to stay hidden in the dark.

To some, this may sound silly, and to others, once they face their old versions of self tucked away in fear, they will find a new joy and freedom they did not know existed. I'm so thankful for the counselor who taught me truly how to love myself like Jesus. We are complex creatures because we are created by a complex being who loves us more than we will ever realize here on earth. I suggest that before you face an involuntary memory, as I did that night, you start inviting those broken parts of yourself out into the light to meet with you and Jesus. You will be amazed by just how spectacular it truly is.

Book suggestions:
The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk
What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo
Childhood Disrupted by Donna Jackson Nakazawa