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When my daughter, Hannah was only 8 years old, a man who lived next door sexually molested her.  Eight years later, she stood in our kitchen, unfastened the loop of her two-inch wide, grosgrain-ribboned watch and revealed multiple cuts on the inside of her left wrist.

She was cutting her wrists with a razor. 

Floods of anguish rushed over me.  Today, I don’t even remember what happened next.  Did I hug her?  Did I cry?  Did I say anything? I think I said, “Why?” 

I had no idea of knowing then that cutting, or self-harm, was going to be the least of our worries.     

Memories of my blonde, pigtailed little girl testifying in court against our neighbor who had been charged by the state of Ohio on four felonious accounts came pouring back.  As did all the pain from feeling like I had failed to protect her from this predator.  Friends who couldn’t handle the truth walked away from me, as did others who didn’t want their kids around mine.   

Hannah’s counselors had warned us something like cutting, alcohol abuse and even suicide attempts might happen as a boomerang affect to the abuse.   They told us that as an 8 year old, Hannah was too young to absorb the impact of the immensity of the personal violation. They warned us the sexual nature of the abuse would not be understood by her until about the time she started to sexually mature or began dating. 

Was this my fault?  What had I not done to protect my daughter?  How had I failed to nurture this beautiful blonde, blue-eyed child?   If I was unable to heal, restore and raise her up who could step in, who could breathe life and truth into my daughter, who had the ability to give Hannah reason to live?  

As I wrestled with finding answers for Hannah and myself, I felt I had to do it all in secret.  I did not want anyone to know—especially her younger sisters.   I had to protect our family from being the “talk of the town.”  I had to hide and isolate.   Hannah and I were both masked.  How do I tell a friend or a family member that my daughter is dying from the inside, out? 

You don’t.  You just kept searching for answers alone.

At times I think this driven search for answers kept me sane.  It also kept me looking outward.  Denial was so alluring.  Running towards something beat standing still.  If I remained still what I saw in front of me was unbearable.   For, when I looked at Hannah, I saw darkness, hopelessness and a life of promise dissolving before my eyes. Hannah shared with her counselors that she was pretty much dead inside. Trying to fake it for so many years Hannah’s struggle to appear “normal” was over. For the first time I saw the depth of the pain inside her.  Hannah was at war with her physical body her weapons cutting, eating nothing, eating too much, abusing alcohol, taking too many pills, not taking pills. 

The masquerade was over.   

And I was so tired.   As I rested for the next lap, I saw the three blank and frightened faces of my other three daughters—then 13, 11 and 9 years old—standing in the background.  It was their turn to ask, “Why?”  “Why didn’t mommy not see them?”  Had I even looked for them, sat with them, laughed with them, hugged them, tucked them in at night, been a mommy to them this entire year? 

I was consumed with rescuing, with finding answers, with saving Hannah’s life because that is what a “good” mother would do.

I finally crumbled.  I was defeated.  Hannah was not improving despite the doctor’s visits and counseling sessions.  The time had come.  What I needed to do was to surrender Hannah.  I was to love her, listen to her, hold her, seek out the resources she needed.  But not to save her.  It was a huge leap for me. I was needed as a wife and a mother to my younger three daughters who literally felt invisible.

I had no idea that surrendering Hannah meant that she would leave our home for 8 months under the loving care of the Mercy Ministries Home.   It was there that she found her life and her purpose and the truth.

My three other girls were gracious as they allowed me another chance to show them how much I loved them.

All four of my daughters have wounds.  Some have healed.  But for those wounds that haven’t healed, we are determined to keep them open to oxygen, uncovered.  

If I were to tell you that the past does not still rear its sharp talons today I would not be helpful to you. But at the end of the day, I hope that more of my moments are spent not in running and searching for answers but in sitting still, with what is before me.  Not to ask “why” but to ask “how.”  How can I love without trying to fix or save and how can I love myself without the guilt. 

My dear friend recently encouraged me with this: “I just want to see you walk into a room with your shoulders held back and your head held high, like you know you have nothing to be ashamed of.” 

I’m almost there.   

What I Know Now:

·      Life is not fair:  Yes, I have said this to my children repeatedly.  But did I believe it?   Life dealt our family a set of circumstances and much of it was out of our control.  It was not fair.  I wished I would’ve accepted this earlier and dealt with it.  A favorite saying of my mom’s rings true.  “We do not determine the hand we are dealt but how we play the cards”.

·      Just because I say it is so does not mean it is so.  I told Hannah repeatedly that the abuse by the neighbor was not her fault, that she was beautiful, that she was bright and courageous, that she had a wonderful future ahead of her.  But just because I said it over and over again, did not make it so.  I needed to listen to what Hannah was saying to me even though it was not my reality, it was hers.   

·      Keeping things covered up isolates and causes more problems.  I wish I would have trusted a few close friends and family members with my situation earlier.  As I finally opened up I found dear friends with knowledge and experience and possible treatment options.  My family did what families do best: they loved each of us in all of our pain and brokenness.  Most importantly these faithful friends and family prayed for us.

·      There are resources for parents.  I found a wonderful group at our church called “Parents in Crisis” which met weekly.  The sharing and teaching restored hope and also made us realize we were not alone. 

·      The other children in the family know when something is going on.  By trying to pretend nothing was wrong, my daughters were left with their own imaginations to try to figure out why mommy cried so much, why she was angry, why she was quiet, why she was gone so much, why mommy and daddy talked much, didn’t talk much, argued too much.  I needed to intentionally pursue them letting them ask the questions they needed answered.  I needed to hold them more.  We all needed to allow ourselves a family time out once in awhile to have fun, to be silly to giggle.

·      When my second daughter started showing signs of depression and self harm behavior it was not copycat behavior.  My second daughter had suffered and turned all the isolation she felt onto herself.  Just because I had finally explained what was happening to Hannah, asking her forgiveness for being an absent mother did not mean that everything was okay.

·      Husbands and wives react very differently to crises.   There are some things that girlfriends are just better able to deal with...lots of listening to my lots of talking, being there for the crying and more crying and being patient with repeating myself over and over again.  I have learned that as my husband was watching his daughter die and his wife fall apart it was time for his own hunt. Searching for answers, to rescue and to fix.  We were not relating just reacting.  Counseling has helped us to see this.  We are still learning how to be there for each other.

·      There can never be enough Forgiveness.  I wish I would have seen earlier how I clung to all the wrongs that I felt were done to my family and me.  It gave me a very hard edge.  It also kept me frozen and withdrawn.  I actually tried to numb myself by trying not to feel anything.   I found that when I asked the “why” question it was the beginning of self-pity which led me down a rabbit trail that wasn't healthy for me or my family.  Forgiving the man that violated my daughter unlocked a lot of locked up emotions and released in me the ability to enjoy life again.   

·      I now have a mission. As with many of you reading this today, my suffering and pain has created a discovered passion within me.  I wish I would have known that suffering could be redeemed.  I have a new soft spot in my heart for families who are consumed with losing children to depression, self harm and sexual abuse.  I have joined an international organization that rescues young girls from human trafficking and slavery in their efforts to give freedom and life from bondage. 

·      Not everyone needs to know, nor will they understand.  After keeping secrets for so long, the flood gates opened and I began to share my story with anyone who would listen.  I learned the hard way that confidences and sharing are a fine line to be walked. I was on a mission to MAKE everyone understand my crisis and to not judge me for it.  Stinging me next was the realization of how much I had judged others dealing with what I was dealing with.  It is life’s great treasure that if we are willing to be truthful to a few, vulnerability and sharing occurs with a few.  There will always be those who don’t understand—I can’t change them, nor can you.

·      I will always be grateful to Mercy Ministries in Nashville, TN.  After I finally started sharing what was happening with Hannah, a dear friend gave me this resource.  My first reaction, as well as Hannah’s, was fear as we read that it was residential treatment home.  As a last resort we accepted that this was the only hope.  Surrendering was not easy nor did it feel natural to me as a mom.  However this leap of faith proved to be the first step towards healing.

Margaret is the mother of four daughters and lives in Ohio.    

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