VALIDATION MAKES A DIFFERENCE

As a child I told and/or asked other people that I thought could/would help me. I wasn't sure if what was happening to me was supposed to happen or not because I trusted my father. I thought he was supposed to do things that were good for me. I wondered if maybe this was supposed to happen to teach me something. When my mother attacked me and said I made it up, then contradicted herself by saying I shouldn't wear my baby doll pajamas in front of my father, I felt terribly confused, and bad. I blamed myself, thinking that I was bad for tempting my father, yet I did not know about sex or tempting. The only tempting I was capable of was imitating my mother's actions because she was my role model. I did some of that. I knew how to flirt from watching my mother, but I just acted out her actions without conscious awareness of what was implicated in the behavior. I knew nothing about sex; no one had talked to me about any of it. I hadn't menstruated yet; I didn't know about that.

I also remember telling a couple of my closest friends to see what their opinion was, and whether it had happened to them. They didn't know anything about what I had told them and they had no idea what I should do about it. After telling three people I was closest to and getting no help, I thought I should just shut up. Then my mother's cousin became friends with me. We became pretty close because he paid attention to me and bought me little presents and took me places. I confided in him and he told my mother. She must have really been on the spot because she confronted my father and kicked him out of the house. However, it turned out that this cousin had his own agenda. I felt too bad to try to get help again. Wow, I thought, it must really be my fault. Something's wrong with me that makes people do this.

I remember later in my life thinking that I must be crazy. I knew the reality, and sometimes doubted my truth because people told me that what was happening was not happening. Sometimes I thought maybe I dreamed it. I knew something was really wrong. It is so hard to believe those who are supposed to love you could be so cruel or insanity producing. I wanted to believe I was loved and lovable. I hurt to the depths of my bone marrow. When I got away from there it became safer to believe my reality. I knew what happened. A psychiatrist told me to move away from my family when I was seventeen. DSS found me a room with an elderly woman retired teacher.

I had a lot of problems and periodically went to therapy. I repeatedly poured my heart out to therapists who glossed over when I talked about the incest and ignored that part of my story. I felt like they were doing the same things that my family did - turning their heads, and refusing to believe. Selling me and my sanity out for their safety. It was very scary in those days for therapists to validate that incest was going on. I wonder why. It would be a brave therapist who could buck the trend of disbelieving and validate a survivor. I went for years to therapy being invalidated and was wondering "What is wrong with these people?". Finally, a few years ago I found a therapist who validated me. I took off from there. I knew this was happening to others. I knew I wasn't crazy.

A few years later I was diagnosed with DID, and talk about validation. Suddenly, lots of things in my life began to make sense. I began to understand why I had such a hard time getting where I intended to go when driving. Why I couldn't remember things that had happened when people told me about them. Why my day just flew by so quickly. Why I thought I was crazy, or at least frustratingly wondered what's wrong with me. Why I couldn't watch a movie without missing major parts of what was going on.

Since being validated and correctly diagnosed, I have made great strides in my recovery. Now one of my issues is to forgive the therapists who wasted hours and hours of my life and time, not to mention the money spent, only to give me more doubts about my reality. I know that my experience is less likely to happen today, yet it still happens too much. It wasn't too long ago when a therapist at an HMO was doing nothing but escalating me when he was refusing me proper treatment, but I kept fighting, got out of that HMO, and now see a therapist who is not afraid of my true life story.