I grew up pretending. I guess most children do to some extent, but my whole world was a big game of it. You do that to survive. It’s what you are programmed to do.
My world was filled with pretty little dresses, Sunday School, and sitting quietly on the front pew of the Baptist church where my father gave the morning’s sermon from the pulpit. Every time the doors were open, we were there in perfect tow.
Perfect. Yes, I had to be perfect. Perfectly quiet with a perfect, sweet smile. If I slouched in church, I suffered the brunt of the twisted pinch from my mother sitting closely next to me. It was to be expected, I guess, for she was trained as well.
On more than one occasion, I was forced to sing in front of the congregation. I presented well, I guess. I stood motionless, stoic, shaking, but I knew if I said no or fidgeted I would suffer later. I couldn’t remember how I would suffer. Just the inner knowing that I would. So, I sang, while I twirled one little finger in my dress. The edge twisted up more and more until my mom blushed in embarrassment.
Every survivor of Satanic Ritual Abuse that I have ever met, and I’ve met a few now, have similar stories, just different scenarios. We are trained to forget what happens, told we are crazy, or made to think we are just making it up.
My counselor once told me that my flashbacks may look different than the reality of what happened because I am trying to piece things together through a child’s broken perspective. Yet, whether I remember the car as red, when it was actually blue, there was still a car. When you compare stories of survivors who have never met before or, like me, were afraid to ever look or read anything having to do with Satan—which is actually very common—you will find the colors may be different, the models may be different, but the basic “car” is the same.
For many decades, leaders in our society, particularly religious leaders, have dismissed survivors of SRA as conspiracy theorists, or worse, crazy liars. Yet now, the news media is filled with story after story of children caught in sex trafficking rings. I believe most children who have been trafficked have experienced some level of satanic ritual abuse. The two easily go together.
Many of my own friends, as they have heard my story, have commented, “Well, that happened to you a long time ago and wouldn’t happen today, not here.” I do understand this desire to dismiss it all. I would have, at one time, run as fast as I could the other direction from even the mention of the words Satanic Ritual Abuse—because I was terrified. It’s easier not to see, to bury our heads, to look the other way. It’s messy. It hurts. It violates our trust and our safe little worlds. Yet, it is also extremely costly if we hide these things any longer.
My friends, it is reality. Many, many people have gone through some type of sexual abuse, but there are more and more trickles of voices of those most broken, who are beginning to remember, who are trapped in nightmares and flashbacks. They are afraid to tell of what is surfacing because they are afraid of believing it themselves. Moreso, they are more afraid of others around them not believing them. They are afraid they will be dismissed as crazy, or worse yet, that someone will harm them or those they love for telling. So, they stay silent. And suffer silently. They were told as children of the horrors that would happen to them and those they loved if they ever told.
Yet, you can’t get out of the darkness until you step into the light. The only way to true freedom is to let the light into the darkness. That light is the true Lord Jesus Christ. His love changes everything. In Rev. 12:11, it says they overcame because of the blood of the lamb (I just triggered an SRA survivor. Sorry for that.) and the word of their testimony. It’s actually in the telling, in the exposing where the light can shine. That exposure needs to happen with safe people, in safe places.
I remember my dear, dear friend as I sat with her in her van, while I snotted my way through telling her every gory detail. It took hours of retelling. She just sat there with tears in her eyes and held my hand. She believed me. That was the greatest gift anyone could have ever given me. I realized after that when the rug wasn’t pulled out from under me, that experience gave me more courage to keep going, to keep uncovering.
Just like how God works, as I write this, the song playing in the background is called, “Tell Me the Truth” by Steffany Gretzinger. The words she just sang are, “Tell me the truth without the self-protection. Love can heal what’s broken with me and you.”
Whether you are the broken one, on whatever level that is, or whether you are the friend trying to listen and understand, know this: God is uncovering things right now, because it’s time. These horrors break His heart. If it doesn’t get exposed, our culture will crumble from the inside out, because it is corroding from the corruption, hidden in the dark. Open up and let the light in. It’s the only way to freedom, to healing, to love. The road is not easy, but it’s, oh, so worth it.
Featured Image by Sydney Sims on Unsplash
