We are still working on healing—I’m sure it will take years. Our trust was completely violated, and no one more so than my amazing daughter. I am angry at myself for not seeing it and for not protecting her. Dr. Patti, mothers can be victims, too. I can’t speak for all moms, but I know I was trying to be the best mom I could be, and yet I still failed to see it and help her. But once she did tell me I was completely there for her. If you ever write another book about this, please consider adding a mother’s perspective.
I struggled with so many issues, especially trying to grieve (how could I grieve the horrible monster who did this to my daughter, yet how could I not grieve my husband of twenty-three years who I thought was the love of my life). I went to counseling and did a ton of journaling, worked on learning as much as I could about abuse and abusers (that’s where your book came in) and then the messy work of rebuilding our lives.
My daughter never has opted for formal counseling. She tried but it just wasn’t a good fit. I think she may still choose to and need to at some point, but that will be when she is ready. I have learned to let her steer her own course in that area. She did find a special mentor to talk with, and she and I did a lot of growing together. She also had amazing support from church.
My younger daughter Eden, who was not a victim of abuse but who was no less a victim of this tragedy, is in counseling. She really struggled, almost more than Tate and I did in some ways. She lost a father, whom she adored, and found out that he hurt her sister, whom she idolized. She was afraid to openly grieve the loss of her dad for fear of seeming disloyal to her sister, and she was concerned it might upset me. It was a mess. She actually started self-harming as a way to cope, but luckily we got help for her and she is doing much better now.
We all used music as a healing tool; we used humor—lots of it, especially gallows humor—and we clung to each other to ride through the stormy seas that we faced. There were plenty of angry fights, but we knew that we could fight with each other because we were safe with each other, and we unconditionally loved each other. The healing is a lot like peeling an onion; there are so many layers—the abuse, the guilt, the suicide, the loss, the shame. It is pretty overwhelming.
My husband’s suicide really complicated things, and I felt like it kept me angry for a long time. I am finally letting much of that anger go. My daughter still hasn’t dealt with many of her old demons; for example, when she visits me she doesn’t stay in her old room, but she is doing amazingly well in college and she is trying to move on with her life. I guess I can say it is so hard, but there is hope.
I hope my story will help someone. I know when I found out, and then my husband committed suicide (all within a period of six hours), I started desperately seeking information and looking to see if anyone else knew what I was feeling. If my story can help even one person or one family, it would be wonderful.
Thanks for listening,
Susanna
My description of incest families is blunt, and Coral’s story is blunt. We need to tell the full truth so that, when another girl reads our book, she relates, she feels less isolated. Countless girls write to me thanking me for the chapter on troubled families. They tell me that reading about how dysfunctional families hurt their daughters has been lifesaving. It has given some girls the courage to walk away from families that continue to hurt them. In some cases, therapists make the survivor feel guilty for her feelings. And sometimes our book will get a girl to leave an unhelpful therapist and get on the right path with her therapy and her healing. She begins to know what she deserves.
Her Story Is My Story
Dear Dr. Patti,
I have never believed in things like signs and fate, but I’m starting to think that there must be some truth in them, because your book found me today.
I was at the Union Square Barnes & Noble, enjoying the free air conditioning, when my mother called me to lecture me about a book I needed to look for—something about spirituality and dieting that she heard about on Oprah. Honestly, there is nothing I want to read less than a diet book, but my mother wouldn’t let me off the phone, so I had to go up to the self-help section to look. She was yammering on about this book when another title caught my eye: Invisible Girls.
I found the diet book, too, and I got my mother to hang up by saying I would read it right then, but really I could barely hear what either of us was saying. I was just staring at your book, not really sure why I was finally ready to read about sexual abuse. I have been telling myself my whole life that what happened to me wasn’t really abuse. In fact, I almost put your book back on the shelf. But I just couldn’t make my hands cooperate with my doubt, so I went over to the café area, found a table (more proof of fate—finding a table on a summer afternoon at that Barnes & Noble is a miracle), and I read the entire book. Cover to cover. I couldn’t feel my toes when I was done, after hours of sitting in the freezing AC, but that might have been shock.
I had never read stories that were so much like mine. I had never heard anyone stand up for me the way you defend and advocate for the women in your book. I didn’t think I could ever be anything besides ashamed, that I would ever be able to stop trying to hide this horrible secret. It seemed like every few pages I was struck by something that felt like it had been written just for me, but when I read the beginning of the chapter “The Deepest Wound,” where you described Coral’s experience of being raped, then going around the corner to sit down to family dinner with her abuser right there at the table, it was like I was looking into my own memories. That had been my life for… basically my whole life. I wanted to swoop into Coral’s house, kick over that dining room table, and pull her away to safety. But I realized that I had never thought of protecting myself that way, or of doing anything but pretending everything was normal and that the horrible incest hadn’t happened (even when it had just happened moments before), and I was finally finding out that other people knew what that was like.
I can’t thank you enough for this book. I have been seeing a therapist for about a year, but she is not well versed in sexual abuse, and I often leave our sessions feeling guilty and confused and anxious. Reading Invisible Girls, I see that I deserve better help and care, and that there are people and resources out there. This book is more than a collection of powerful stories or a self-help guide or a priceless bundle of knowledge. It’s a beacon of hope, and it is exactly what I needed.
With Love and Thanks,
Apatha
Updating this book for a revised edition has been my honor. It is such an honor to know all the girls and women who have survived sexual abuse and then have gone on to thrive and love and have beautiful lives. These are lives with pathways and journeys filled with light. I can’t say it enough—invisible girls speaking the truth about sexual abuse saves girls over and over and over again.
AFTERWORD: LETTER FROM AN INCEST SURVIVOR
How I Found Love
When I have the opportunity to see the work of Invisible Girls and my nonprofit Girlthrive reach a girl so deeply, I get to experience the full circle of deep-rooted healing. And now I want you to experience that full circle too.
Summer is someone I have known for the past ten years. I met her when she was nineteen years old and had just disclosed her abuse and found our book. She has been through hell. Much like Coral, she found herself in a new country without any support when at sixteen years old she moved into a home with a father she met for the first time and his second wife. A few days after the move, her father came into her bedroom and began sexually abusing her. What Summer wants to share with you is how deeply she loves now, how deeply she feels the beauty and hope all around her. What Summer wants to share with you is how an incest survivor gets past her abuse and embraces life, beauty, and love to its fullest.
HOW I FOUND LOVE
Where exactly do I begin? Let’s start with a story; it’s not all fun. But I assure you it gets better. When I was younger I’d always hear adults say, “What a pretty little black gi
rl!” (I’m a fantastic shade of brown chocolate.) My sister would get “What a pretty little redskin girl.” Even as children we both had enough intelligence to realize that the specification of our colors were on the outside, not what was inside of us. Yes, growing up on the island of Jamaica had its quirks, but I knew I was full of life and love.
Skip forward to puberty. My breasts grew before my hips, and I was an insecure fourteen-year-old. The bright, dark beauty of a little girl became self-conscious.
My mother was not the kind of mom who was ever really there—she was working two jobs, she had three kids with different fathers, not really a relationship role model. She sent me to a school that scared the shit out of me with a pedagogy so strict that corporal punishment was acceptable. And, one dark night when I called my granddad crying, he came and got me. He took me in and took care of me. My first experience of unconditional love.
Skip to sixteen years old.
My mother put me on a plane to the U.S.A. to come and live in New York City with the biological father whom I never met. My mother felt I could get a better education in America. Three nights after my arrival, down the hall from his three sons and his second wife, he came into my bedroom.
I woke up with my father’s fingers inside me. He moved the fingering to rapes and continued to rape me for the next three years. Sometimes he was angry and violent with me when I tried to stop him. After, his apologies included something about me being beautiful and understanding him. His narcissistic abuser manipulation rhetoric included brushing my hair at times and telling me I was beautiful. Here began my obsession with makeup. Makeup was my attempt at changing how I looked—maybe if I looked different, he’d leave me alone. Maybe if I kept my room messy, kept my books on my bed. Maybe if I wore multiple layers of clothes, I’d not look so pretty. Maybe if I slept with multiple layers, he wouldn’t rape me. That changed nothing, the abuse continued, and I attempted suicide. I woke up from the overdose of sleeping pills, I started covering mirrors, I could not look at myself. In spite of it all, I graduated vice president of the National Honor Society, member of the academic decathlon. I mean, come on, beauty and brains, what can I say? (This is my healed self having a proud moment, stick with me. It took me years to heal so as I write this I’m giving my eighteen-year-old self a round of applause for being so strong.)
Sounds like a horror story, but I promise you it gets better. I started at a local college, and I began to crave freedom more. I got out of my father’s house, I moved to the dorms. I finally snapped and told my stepmother about the abuse. I went to the police, but they talked and talked and talked until I signed a paper saying I wouldn’t press charges, and then I received a ten-year order of protection. I found the book Invisible Girls and Dr. Patti, and six months later a boyfriend.
Here began the purging of my wounds. I was inwardly emotionally detached, depressed, insecure, and outwardly I was driven, humble, confident! Yes, I was outwardly surviving, but inside I was slowly wishing to just die. My boyfriend would sit with me in the corner when I had a panic attack, hug me when I woke from nightmares screaming, then he’d openly flirt with other women and ask me, “You think you’re talking to your father?” Yup, classic toxic relationship, but all the while I had therapy twice a week for two-hour sessions! Seriously! She helped me put in work! Thank you, Dr. Patti. I became the face of Girlthrive and I grew stronger! So I decided to reclaim myself. My second experience of unconditional love, Dr. Patti and Girlthrive.
Here begins the part where I reclaim my sexuality and my body and mind! Here is where I truly begin! I sought ways of overcoming fears. I lit candles in the bathroom and soaked in the tub, I shaved my head as a sign that I control every part of me! I changed my name! My name precedes me, and only I will decide what name I am known by. That sperm donor does not get an opportunity for me to carry his name. I choose the name they will use when they record my history. I hung mirrors in my home! I threw away my makeup! I upgraded my wardrobe! I spoke out loud and proud! I practiced walking with my head held high! I grew closer to my siblings! I slowly let people into my life! I got a tattoo! The boyfriend dumped me, I refused to take him back! I graduated college! I got my nursing license! I worked way too much! I fell in love! I traveled! I had my heart broken. I cried myself to sleep. I spent a birthday crying on my bed with four of my closest girlfriends huddled around me. I inspired countless women to live their truth! I ate, I gained weight! The extra bra size wasn’t what I thought it would be, so I lost weight! I healed and I fell in love with ME.
So what is beauty to me? Beauty is my life. I’ve loved and I’ve lost. I’ve been used and abused, but now I love. I get excited when my partner holds my hands. Beauty is my ability to push past my fears and live in the moment. Beauty to me is the delight in children’s eyes when they see their parent witness them getting it right after ten tries. Beauty is my best friend gathering the courage to propose to his boyfriend. Beauty is watching my friend have her heart broken as we are going on vacation but she pushes through to come out victorious on the other end. Beauty is my sister losing her fiancé mid-pregnancy but finding inner strength to wake up daily and raise her little girl. Beauty is my mother admitting she was a bad parent and not knowing how to comfort me, so she cooks and cleans and sits in silence by my bed. Beauty is my brother going to college and doing poetry slams, trying new things and falling in love with himself as well.
Beauty is the way my grandfather loves me unconditionally. The way he worried more about me than himself when he was diagnosed with cancer. His love for me outweighed the threat of possible death. Beauty is the way he forgets his birthday but remembers mine; it’s the same day, but he’d rather celebrate me instead. Beauty is the sound of the birds when I wake, it’s the soft snore by my side. The twinkle in my nieces’ eyes. The glee in my siblings’ voices. Beauty is the sunset on the beach, with family by your side, a fall day when the leaves are changing, hot cocoa, your lover, and a long drive. Beauty is me when I walk by a mirror at 3 A.M., no makeup, messy hair, raw vulnerability, fear of heartbreak, faith in love, faith in God, trust in me.
Ultimately that’s it! Beauty is my ability to trust that, no matter what I look like, where I go, who I am with, where I came from, I can always count on me. Beauty is sitting in an empty room, nothing but a chair, the wind, me, my inner strength, and a great awareness of divine peace. Beauty is the thing within me that anchors me in the midst of all my storms. Beauty is my refusal to live between my hat and my heels. Beauty is the way I turn my famine into fortune. Beauty is when that little chocolate-skinned girl gets herself back, hugs herself, hugs the sixteen-year-old who was abused and feels the self-love.
Love is having this opportunity to share my journey with you all. Invisible Girls started my healing, because other girls told their stories. And I know that when you read Invisible Girls, there is someone whom you will tell your story to. You too can find the beauty in your lives and fall in love with yourselves. I love you all already!
Love,
Summer
Thank you so much for taking this journey with us. I told you sexually abused girls are the most eloquent and resilient girls I know. You are all precious and beautiful flowers ready to blossom!
With love and admiration,
Dr. Patti
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Of course, the first ones to thank are my beautiful clients, the hundreds of teen girls and young women whom I continue to be blessed to work with. I never stop being inspired by them. I also thank the girls and young women I have met at my workshops. Special thanks to all the survivors that have added their voices to Invisible Girls.
Then I need to thank Caroline Pincus, a wonderful collaborator for being the extraordinary midwife for our first and second editions. She helped to bring my words to life. I thank her family, Esther and Ruby, for their support in giving up precious time with Caroline! I thank my agents, Loretta Barrett and Nick Mullendore, who has taken the helm for Loretta, for his handholding. Thanks to
them both for their unwavering support and faith. I thank my circle of women friends for their deep sisterhood and for always being there: Candy Talbert, Mary Krause, Connie Grappo, Mary Walker, Susie Stevens, Pam Wheaton, Diana Stevens, Tracy Gilman, Selima Salun, Eva Vives, Bridget Malloy, Elizabeth Hasse, Leigh Kamioner, Serena Schrier, and Jeri Cohen.
Thanks to Lyn Mikel Brown for her openness and early read and great collegial networking on our first edition. Also thanks to Kay Jackson for deep insights, her early read of the first edition, and her steady support. A special thanks to all the women of Seal Press who supported this project with understanding and excitement: first, Laura Mazer, executive editor for her encouragement, patience, time, energy and personal editing to help bring our third edition to life; second, the Seal team, including Kerry Rubenstein, designer for a cover that I love, and Sharon Kunz, publicist for her social media savvy. I thank my kick-ass copyeditor, Carrie Watterson, as well as my senior project editor, Amber Morris, for her patience and encouragement. All the designers, formatters, and editors on the Seal team were wonderful.
I thank Krista Lyons for extraordinary sensitivity and understanding for the first and second editions. Also a special thanks to Brooke Warner, who envisioned this third edition even before I did and helped me to articulate my vision. I thank all the wonderful students and staff at Edward R. Murrow High School for their participation in this project. A special acknowledgment to Ms. Sandy Pindar, Abdul-Wali, for being so open to the thoughts and feelings of teenagers and sexual abuse. Special thanks to GEMS for opening their doors to me.
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