underreported), N
millions of people of all genders are currently in relationships with partners who have been through sexual abuse. The simple truth is that if our GBV, particularly rape, and childhood sexual abuse statistics are correct (and we know they are Neither the victims/survivors nor their partners are adequately prepared to manage the profoundly detrimental effects that past abuse has on relationships. They lack forewarning, subject knowledge, and the tools to process conflicting emotions , and many don't have access to professional help. Moreover, a significant proportion of these partners are unaware of the full extent of their loved one's history of abuse. When stories are shared, they are often downplayed and minimised, and most times, with little meaningful disclosure. Why? Because the victims simply want to move on and lead a "normal life". They strive to preserve their remaining dignity and avoid the risk of alienating their partners. Additionally, many are not believed and do not want to risk not being believed by their partners. Trauma begets more trauma, and under the shroud of secrecy, shame, silence and half-truths, victims and survivors carry the perpetrators’ shame and their ill-equipped partners become secondary victims and often unwitting villains as families become entangled in vicious trauma cycles. Rage, violence, and self-medication easily become the dysfunctional norms in families built on secrecy and shame—the very conditions demanded by a history of sexual abuse. Cycles of intergenerational trauma persist when children are raised in such circumstances.
Patriarchy has provided some enormous benefits to men, and this cannot be argued. It is simultaneously true that patriarchy has damaged everyone, men included. For many years my father was portrayed as the villain in the narrative of my tragic childhood. My dad was prone to unpredictable, alcohol fuelled, explosive episodes of wildly uninhibited rage, causing destruction, and instilling deep fear in the children. In a series of memorable incidents which took place over a period of years, my mother sustained an assortment of severe injuries. Often, my sisters and I were the targets and we would come away with bruises, welts, open wounds and scars. For much of my adult life my relationship with my father was strained, and for several years I didn't speak to him at all. I oscillated between wanting to know and love him and holding on to my right to hate and blame him. My mother's family was quick to identify my father as the problem - the domestic violence was obvious. But the full truth had yet to be revealed. Well into adulthood, my sisters and I reinforced our internal narratives by frequently engaging in conversations that bashed our dad. Each of these conversations broke my heart anew. I would sometimes cry for weeks, wishing my father could be the dad I wanted instead of the "monster" I believed him to be. As a parent to two sons, I realised early on that I wanted to put an end to intergenerational trauma in my family. I made it my responsibility to break the cycle, which required deep introspection and forgiveness.
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November 2023 | Collective Action Magazine
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