Brave Enough to Bare Our Scars: Healing from Sexual Abuse

By Teresa Whiting

God's Brave Women - Teresa's Story

I always hated climbing those giant steps. The ones above my second-grade kneecaps. Frank, my friendly, rumpled bus driver, gave me his warmest smile, but all kindness ended there.

The fifth-grade bully sat in his assigned seat near the front and stuck out his foot to trip me. I caught myself mid-stumble and looked up into a sea of laughing faces. But they weren’t mocking my clumsiness. They were making obscene comments and using words I didn’t understand. Slowly, the horror dawned on me. My “friend” had leaked my secret to the entire bus. She was the only person I had told about the abuse.

Gulping back tears, I made my way toward the back, searching for an empty seat. As I walked that lonely aisle I made myself a silent promise, “I will never tell anyone again!”

Thus began a six-year cycle of sexual abuse, secrecy, fear, and shame.

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"As I walked that lonely aisle I made myself a silent promise, “I will never tell anyone again!” Thus began a six-year cycle of sexual abuse, secrecy, fear, and shame."

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The summer before eighth grade, my parents sent me to Camp Haluwasa (an acronym for Hallelujah What A Savior). By then I’d become a promiscuous, bratty, foul-mouthed teenager. I was willing to endure daily Bible lessons, knowing I’d be able to swim, do crafts, play capture the flag and spend my free time flirting with the boys. At the end of the week, we circled up in our teepee under a moonlit sky. We lay on our sleeping bags, six giggling middle-school heads pointed toward the center, where our counselor, “Aunt Becky”, sat Indian style.