BINDING UP THE BROKENHEARTED

Preaching forgiveness to women who were sexually abused as children

By Roslyn Lawrance

We believe in the doctrine of forgiveness. We accept that we need to forgive those who have offended us or done us wrong. We preach forgiveness as a pre-requisite to receiving forgiveness ourselves from the Lord for our own transgressions and sins. The scriptures are replete with exhortations to forgive. The Lord makes it clear that if we do not forgive others, we cannot expect forgiveness from Heavenly Father. (Matthew 6:15) He tells us that we are not to choose whom we forgive, but, rather, that we are required to forgive all men. (D&C 64:10) When Peter asked the Saviour how often his brother should sin against him and expect forgiveness, Jesus told him, ‘Until seventy times seven,’ (Matthew 18:22) from which we infer that our obligation to forgive is unending. The mercy we extend to our fellowmen should be as unconstrained and ungrudging as the mercy we hope to receive from our Heavenly Father. This doctrine is so familiar to us that we can teach it without a second thought. It has been thoroughly inculcated into our spiritual framework. We believe it deeply and try to live it as a principle. We understand that forgiveness is a blessing to those who forgive, as well as, usually more than, to those who are forgiven. Forgiving others gives us the opportunity to move on. It liberates us and allows us to receive the Holy Spirit in fuller measure.

Thus it is that when a woman who was sexually abused as a child discloses that abuse in an LDS setting, she is often advised to forgive her abuser. This advice is usually accompanied by exhortations to fast and pray, study the scriptures and attend the temple. This is the way to healing, she is told. Not infrequently, forgiveness is emphasised as the most important factor on her road to recovery. Women who are given this counsel, typically try desperately hard to apply it, but healing often remains elusive for them. They become despondent. They are encouraged to make a more concerted effort, forgive more completely, even told that if they do not forgive they are more at fault than their abuser – ‘…he that forgiveth not his brother…standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin,’ (D&C 64:9) – and they struggle even harder, only to find themselves more surely stuck in the quagmire. They become convinced of their spiritual inadequacy, suffer chronically from depression and, sadly, all too often, stray from the Church.

Why is it that encouragement to live a principle we know to be true should be so unhelpful to this group of women? Is their failure to heal the result of their unforgiving souls?

Women who disclose the sexual abuse they suffered in childhood have to overcome many hurdles in order to reach the point of being able to call what happened to them abuse, and acknowledge that it has left deep wounds. Abused children are taught by their abusers to keep secrets. The adults they become do not easily lose the fear that there will be consequences too appalling to contemplate if they tell. Often, the abuse was perpetrated by someone they knew well, and should have been able to trust, perhaps even a father, grandfather or uncle. Victims of incest may find it especially hard to admit, even to themselves, that someone they love very much did terrible things to them. They know that telling violates the first principle of incestuous families – ‘You must keep our secret, no matter what the cost to yourself.’ They know, too, that disclosure will be likely to have repercussions for the whole family, not just for the victim and her abuser. Women who were abused by priesthood holders, particularly priesthood leaders, also face special challenges in disclosing. They know instinctively that they will be harder to believe, especially if the person they choose to tell knows their abuser. In addition, any victim who must constantly be in contact with her abuser, at Church, within the family, or both, will have developed coping strategies to deal with these encounters while keeping herself and her children, if she has them, safe. She knows that disclosure will disrupt irrevocably a status quo, which, while stressful and dishonest is at least familiar as well as fairly stable and predictable.

It therefore takes enormous courage for any woman to disclose that she has suffered sexual abuse. A woman who discloses to a bishop has to overcome particular challenges, which can seem insurmountable to her. She has been abused as a child by a man, perhaps by more than one man, who was in a position of power and authority over her. Her relationships with men in adult life are likely to have been problematic, if not actually abusive. To disclose to a priesthood leader is to make herself vulnerable to a man who holds a position of authority. This can feel intolerably stressful and unsafe. If her confidant can acknowledge what this first, vital step to recovery has cost her, she may begin to feel able to trust him. Perhaps it will be the first time she has ever been able to trust a man to treat her with respect and dignity. His awareness that she is allowing him to see into her soul, and that he needs to be careful with her, can be the beginning of an important, healing relationship. To open our hearts is to be open to pain as well as joy. Women who have been abused know this, and have spent a lifetime denying themselves joy because they feel they cannot endure more pain. When such vulnerable people reveal themselves to us, we need to treat it as a privilege, and know we stand in holy places.

This moment of disclosure is a critical juncture for the abused woman. The response she receives from the person to whom she discloses is crucial. It can give her hope and vindication, and the courage to take the next step in the healing process. Or it can make her wary and cautious, wondering if she is doing the right thing, or even whether she really was abused. Or it can leave her crushed and devastated, confirming all the feelings she already has of unworthiness and insignificance so that she doubts she will ever be whole again.

So what can a bishop or other confidant do to ensure she leaves him in the right frame of mind to move on, begin to take control of her life and put her difficult past behind her? Is this the time to preach forgiveness?

The most important gift a priesthood leader can give her is to believe her story. I have often been asked by priesthood leaders how they can know if a woman who says she was sexually abused as a child is telling the truth, as though there is a likelihood she might not be. There seems to be a perception that there are women who make such disclosures as some kind of attention seeking behaviour. There is also concern about ‘false memory syndrome’, and the possibility that some women are persuaded by the media or by questionable counselling techniques that the emotional problems they are experiencing are the result of childhood sexual abuse. Research and experience has taught us that while these possibilities exist, they are negligible. Of all the women I have known who have disclosed child sexual abuse, there has been no evidence that any of them has not told the truth. To the contrary, as their stories have unfolded, they have shared the main features of corroborated accounts of sexually abusive childhoods, and the women themselves have shown typical characteristics of survivors. Tellingly, when they are treated as women who have survived child sexual abuse, they make progress and get better. When women who disclose abuse are treated as neurotic or deluded, they typically fail to make any improvement in their emotional health.

When a woman is believed, she is no longer alone. She immediately has someone on her side. That is an enormous relief. She is desperate to know what she can do to reclaim her life and is receptive to counsel from this new ally in her life. She has little confidence in her own judgement or value and is willing to accept his advice. Why, then, should this not be a good time to preach forgiveness and a new commitment to spiritual growth? After all, victims of childhood sexual abuse, of all people, have plenty to forgive.

Let us think for a moment of the parable of the Good Samaritan. How much help would it have been to the man lying in the gutter, barely alive after his severe beating, if the Good Samaritan had preached forgiveness to him as he lay there on the road to Jericho? Or had suggested prayer and fasting would cure him? Or if he had charged off into the hills to bring the perpetrators to justice? Or if he had suggested that perhaps the man was exaggerating his injuries for ulterior motives? Or had chastised him for being in the wrong place or for being a tempting target to the bandits? Or if he had given him minimal help to get to the town and then abandoned him? Or if he had taken him to the inn and told him he had one week to get better and then he would be on his own? Clearly, none of these responses would have been appropriate. Instead, the Good Samaritan believed the evidence of his own eyes, ‘bound up [the man’s] wounds, set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.’ When he left the inn, he gave money to the host and told him to, ‘Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.’

Sometimes, we equate spirituality with emotional health. We have no difficulty understanding that our bodies and our spirits are separate, or that we can have damaged bodies while our spirits are in good health. While our spiritual wholeness will certainly influence the effect physical illness has on us and our recovery process, we do not tell sick people that their condition is the result of their spiritual insufficiency. We have more difficulty understanding that the spiritually diligent can be emotionally damaged, and we are tempted to make the assumption that someone who is having emotional difficulties must be spiritually lacking. Of course, one has an impact on the other, but doing all we can to stay close to the Lord does not give us immunity from emotional pain or sickness, or from psychological injury. We do not expect the bereaved to bounce back to mainstream living after the death of a beloved spouse, parent, sibling or child, even with the knowledge we have that their death is an essential part of their eternal progression. We allow them a period of grieving and empathise with the loneliness they feel as they face life without their loved one. Just as our bodies are inevitably bruised, perhaps broken, when they are assaulted, and our souls face pain and heartache after bereavement, so our emotional well being is bound to be compromised by the kind of assault suffered by women who were sexually abused as children.

The kinds of injuries likely to be sustained by someone who falls out of a tree are predictable to a degree, depending on factors such as how far the casualty fell, how they landed, their age, how quickly they received help and so on. Treatment can be determined accordingly. In the same way, the psychological injuries following childhood sexual abuse can be predicted within certain parameters. Neither physical nor psychological injury is necessarily affected by our spirituality, although the healing process from both can be profoundly influenced by it. Similarly, although miracles of healing occur as a result of priesthood blessings, – bones are mended, tumours vanish, – they are not the inevitable result of spiritual maturity and faith. For most of us, there is a process to submit to, professional experts to consult and trust, and a treatment plan to follow, which may lead to complete healing, or to a partial recovery that leaves a degree of permanent impairment. This is as true of psychological trauma as it is of physical trauma.

We are able to accept easily in the case of physical illness that it is wise to put ourselves in the hands of medical experts. We know that an incorrect diagnosis or the wrong treatment will not only put recovery in jeopardy, it may actually make the patient more sick. When our friends or family come to us for support during times of serious sickness, we expect to offer that support in practical or emotional ways. We may relieve them of some of their chores. We may visit with them, bring them gifts, listen to their concerns and fears, and their experience of illness. We do not expect to advise them on what treatment they should be receiving. Certainly, we would not contradict their own doctors’ advice. Even if we are concerned that they are not receiving the best care and feel it necessary to suggest a second opinion, we would not presume to prescribe proper treatment ourselves. It would be no more appropriate for someone to whom a survivor of child sexual abuse has disclosed to attempt to prescribe treatment. The role of a confidant is to listen, encourage, reassure, uplift, give spiritual insight and practical help. It is not to supplant the role of a properly qualified expert. There is help available for survivors. There are therapies with proven track records. There are plenty of resources for women to use to supplement whatever help they receive. We can make all this kind of support accessible, and we can encourage the survivor to use them. We must not set ourselves up as experts and give advice we do not know to be useful.

I trained as a nurse many years ago. I have some experience of medical procedures, although I certainly have not kept up to date with medical or nursing advances. I have nursed my mother and grandmother through their final illnesses and taken care of my eight children as they have succumbed to various ailments and injuries. My expertise in taking care of the physically sick is probably greater than that of most people. Sometimes, people ask me for medical advice. Often it is for something fairly superficial, and I can recommend the best cream or potion, or share something that I have found useful. However, if a friend came to me in distress and said they had all the symptoms of cancer, that they were afraid of the diagnosis, of treatment, of death, there is no way I could possibly give any advice other than to see someone who is properly qualified to give a diagnosis and prescribe treatment. I can give all the encouragement possible, relieve distress where I can, offer practical help. I cannot offer any opinion on whether or not my friend has cancer, or what their treatment should be. A woman who has suffered childhood sexual abuse has experienced one of the most traumatic emotional assaults it is possible to endure. If she looks to us for help, our role must be a supportive, not a prescriptive, one. We can encourage her to find appropriate treatment. We can be a friend, confidant, nurturer, practical helper. We can not be a therapist.

So where does forgiveness fit into all this? Let us think about the victim on the road to Jericho again. The Good Samaritan did not preach forgiveness to him as he helped him onto his beast and took him to the town. It is not hard for us to understand how inappropriate it would be to do so under such circumstances. When a woman discloses the sexual abuse she suffered as a child, she is emotionally in a similar state to the physical state in which the Good Samaritan found the victim of robbery. She needs the first aid of being listened to and being believed. She needs reassurance that she is acceptable in the sight of the Lord. She needs to know that what happened was not her fault. She needs to be loved, respected and treated with dignity. She needs resources to be made available to her. She needs to move forward at her own pace, not have progress ‘goals’ imposed upon her. She needs to be in control of her own recovery. She has already been robbed of her free agency under appalling circumstances. This is not the time to make more demands of her which she cannot possibly meet, but feels she cannot refuse to agree to.

We can imagine how the relationship between the Good Samaritan and his patient might have developed. Perhaps they became good friends. Perhaps the wounded man trusted his rescuer with his story of how he came to be on the road to Jericho, who his attackers were, and what they stole from him. Maybe, when the pain was under control, and his body was mending, he talked about his feelings. He may have expressed the anger he felt at the injustice he suffered and the loss he incurred. If he did, I think the Good Samaritan would have heard such honesty without judgement or criticism. And a little further down the road, perhaps they discussed the principle of forgiveness. They would have talked about it as a process of letting go, of leaving matters in the Lord’s hands, and trusting Him to make things right in His own time. They would have discussed how forgiveness could be a blessing to the victim as a means of empowerment and drawing closer to the Lord. I do not believe the Good Samaritan would have preached it as an obligation to be discharged as quickly as possible if the casualty were to save his own soul.

If it is our privilege to be allowed into the lives of those who have been sexually abused as children, let us be sure that we, ‘…preach good tidings…bind up the brokenhearted…proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound…to comfort all those that mourn…to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.’ (Isaiah 61:1-3.)