I have been ashamed for as long as I can remember.
I was abused as a child, from about five to seven years old. It was two different offenders, both significantly older than me. It's really bad in the mouth and it probably makes you sick to your stomach to read it.
I learned all too early that my body was not mine, that my boundaries were not to be respected and that my feelings were not important. I suffered such a massive failure throughout my childhood that I wasn't sure I would ever become a real person. A person who was not weighed down by shame, guilt and self-loathing.
My parents found out what had happened and, in short, did not handle it very well. I was told it was wrong, but never that I had been taken advantage of by some boys who knew better. Afterwards, like so much else that hurt, it was hushed up to death; because if you don't talk about it, it doesn't exist. I actually got to a point where I doubted myself if it had ever happened or if it was something I imagined. The silence did nothing but feed the shame that already resided deep within me.
Only as an adult did I begin to be able to say it out loud, to the people I trusted. It was still incredibly limited how much I talked about it, simply because I didn't know how.
I wasn't the one to be ashamed of
I started in group therapy at CSM Øst at the age of 23 and only started to get a language for what had happened to me there. It was also only there that I was confronted with how long I had been ashamed of something that was not my fault.
It was not me who should be ashamed; those were my abusers. They were the ones who had taken something that was never theirs and something they couldn't just give back to me.
This is when I started working with the shame and all the other feelings I had in relation to my abuse. Now hold on, how difficult it was at first. Partly because I was already super introverted and shy, but then on top of that I had to talk to a whole bunch of people about something you never had to put into words before.
The more often I went there, the easier it became and if you go and consider whether therapy is something for you, I really think you should give it a shot, you grow so much from that shit.
Hungry to be loved
I have previously been met with the assumption that if I was sexually abused as a child, then I must have a tense relationship with sex today, but the truth is quite different.
I started as a teenager, desperately trying to feel love from others by having sex with them. It was the only way I knew I could gain their attention, even if it was short-lived or built on lies.
I was generally always extremely quick to fall in love; it didn't take much before people gave me butterflies in my stomach and I was convinced that I could make them love me too. Because I hungered for it; to be loved. When I inevitably developed feelings for someone, I would immediately jump to the conclusion that I had to give them my body in order to hold on to them.
I was hugely influenced by porn, the male gaze and the patriarchy when it came to sex. I just wanted to perform convincingly and adequately; it was important to me that those I had sex with had a good experience, it still kind of is, but today it is just as important to me that I also have a good experience and be satisfied.
I had a steady partner for six years who showed me that it was okay to take a seat in bed and to put my desires into words. He did it confidently, which was exactly what I needed, since otherwise I'd only been used to changing sex partners who couldn't care less if I thought what we were doing was cool. Today I prioritize my own pleasure and expect my partners to do the same. I refuse to compromise my wants and needs, I simply have done that for too long; and then sex is so much better when everyone is committed and can guide each other to the best experience.
I refuse to be ashamed
I am still working on being able to put into words my thoughts and feelings, not only in relation to my sexual desires, but also in general. I always thought that the things I said had to have value and had to be measured and weighed so much before it was allowed to come out of my mouth that in the end I usually just didn't say anything.
The shame takes up surprisingly little for me today, because the more you talk about it, the less it takes up, until eventually it's in a size that doesn't weigh you down to have to carry.
I spent so many years hating and being ashamed of the body that had never done anything but keep me alive. Whatever I bid it; whether it was giving it to someone who never deserved it, or self-harming in a desperate attempt to feel anything but absolute nothingness, it always forgave me.
My body has always done its best, and with everything that has been thrown in its direction and all the misdeeds done to it, I am so fucking proud to still stand here and be able to pay tribute to the body that has always fought for me, even when I refused to fight for it.
I refuse to be ashamed of myself and my body anymore. It deserves better and so do I.
