A Mother Reaches Out.

A mother writes about the calls of anguish that enveloped her and how she came to terms with the discovery that her child had been victim of sexual abuse.

What I am about to write is far from easy for any mother. But I must write it. Sharing my story with other mothers..and perhaps also fathers, is not only my way of healing the scar left on my mind, but is also an attempt to offer support and strength to those of you who are going through or have gone through similar trauma. At times, it may seem to you that the sky will come crashing down on you; I only want to say to you that you are not alone.

My husband, college- going daughter, six-years-old son and I lived in a large, spacious house in the center of Lahore . We were the usual family, complete with picnics and birthday parties and vacations .My daughter was at an age where friends meant everything, but Amer was the apple of our eyes. He was a cheerful and friendly child with an infectious laugh. I remember how he used his mischievous little smile to get his way with me. I always tried to be the perfect mother and be with my children when ever possible. I taught at a school, and my afternoons were always free for Amer. We would talk about school, or his friends or I would read to him and watch him lose himself in the depths of his imagination.

Yes, I really though that I was there for him, but nothing could have prepared me for what was going on in his life.

Amer had always been such a joy to me that I was clueless as to how to react when from a happy, laughing child, he turned into an aggressive one in a few weeks. Getting him dressed for school became a hassle every morning. There were complaints from school that he was bullying other children and throwing tantrums, something he rarely did before. For a while, I tried to ignore it and told my self that it was just a phase, although I did wonder why it was happening. Was it school? Was it something I had done? Was it friends? I tried hard to be a good mother and be patient telling myself that it will pass. But with in two months the situation was going in a direction that was worrying me more and more. At home, too, his smiles became less frequent. He would often cry at the slightest scolding or over something that seemed insignificant. He would often sit in his room or in the backyard for hours. Attempts at bringing him in from the cold or for meals always ended in tears.

My husband insisted that it was because I had been too gentle with him. He too, saw a difference in our son, but felt that I was worrying too much. There were times we would argue and argue over it. Sometimes I screamed back when he accused me of spoiling him, but often I set back silently, believing every word that he said. Although, I tried not to lose control despite Amer's misbehavior, my husband was less successful. I remember how shocked I was when he resorted to spanking in order to deal with Amer's behavior. However, that would trigger off the problematic cycle all over again. His school performance began to fall gradually and I noticed that he no longer wanted to be with his friends as much. My anxiety continued, but I simply could not pinpoint a reason.

I saw my son disappearing into his shell. It was more and more difficult to deny the impact of what had happened. It was at this point that I started reading up on child sexual abuse. I had minimum knowledge earlier.it had always been something far away, something that happened to other people, something that happened in other countries and so I had never made the effort to find out more. But it was so close now, so real.

It was in the midst of this difficult period a year later that my husband caught our driver touching, fondling Amer in the most humiliating way possible, in our garage. From then onwards, nothing was the same.

My husband, taken over completely by an uncontrollable rage, had beaten the driver severely and thrown him out immediately. but this was far from the solution, although I didn't really want to believe that it had really happened, I thought that I had accepted it, and that it was now time to move on. The link between the new Amer and what had been happening suddenly seemed very clear to me and I was relieved that at last there was an explanation. Things could only move in a positive direction from now on, I told myself. soon everything would be normal again.

For a while it did seem that way. It was almost a relief to find out the truth. Amer too, seemed less aggressive, in some ways even more relaxed. An immense burden had been lifted from his mind. the horrible secret that he had been forced to keep, had finally been revealed. But I had been wrong to think that things would quickly go back to normal, that we would all forget and go on the way we had been before the incident. Amer continued to withdraw from us. Perhaps from being scared, he was now embarrassed, perhaps still confused about all that had happened. Whatever it was, he was not the Amer he had been a year ago. When was the last time he came and talked about school, about his favorite TV show, I wondered? His teachers still talked about how inattentive and fidgety he had become in class. Although I tried hard, it was extremely difficult to ignore what was going on. I tried to talk to him from time to time, but he had built walls around him and would not let anyone enter. not even me. My husband tried once or twice to get through too, but was even less successful. At first I tried to convince myself that what had happened could not be all that bad. Nothing big had really happened. He had only been touched. No physical harm had been done. He would get over it. we all would. I tried desperately not to even think about it, hoping the whole thing would simply disappear. I told myself over and over again that nothing had changed in our lives. I still tried to be there for Amer, still read to him still cuddled him, but sometimes it was as though he no longer wanted to be with me. As I saw my son disappearing in to His shell, it was more and more difficult to deny the impact of what had happened.

It was at this point that I started reading up on child sexual abuse. I had had minimum knowledge earlier. it had always been something far always, something that happened to other people, something that happened in other countries and so I had never made the effort to find out more. But it was so close now, so real. I asked my husband to read up on it. He insisted that I was over-reacting. But I could no longer pretend that nothing was wrong.

It was through my readings and later on from my counsellor, that I had began to understand what was happening. I began to understand the effect of sexual abuse, the feelings of denial that every family goes through, the withdrawal of the child. The books spoke of how certain effects of such abuse could last forever. This realisation filled me with despair and tore at me. It was then that the crying began. Something so terrible had happened to my child, and I had ignored it. I would stay up at night reading and even longer, worrying. I felt the gravity of the abuse now, of its shattering impact, and I could not be at ease. Nothing I did or said could comfort me any longer.

Through my tears, there were moments when I felt intense anger, anger at myself for being so ignorant and such a terrible, terrible mother. Why had I not watched him more carefully? Had I not talked to him enough? How could I not have known? And then there was anger at my husband for not protecting Amer. There was even anger at my Amer for being so small and helpless. for being a child. The need to punish or to blame someone dangerously strong. Sometimes, my outbursts with my husband relieved me; at other times my baby who caught the brunt of my anger. I remember one night I caught Amer in the backyard, twisting the dog's tail violently, with such a vicious look in his eyes, that I lost myself in a rage I cannot express in words. For a split second, without a thought, I fiercely jerked his arm and slapped him hard across his face. He began sobbing uncontrollable. I ran to my room, and lay on my bed. The whole scene played over and over again in my mind and I felt overwhelmed and drained by guilt, sadness and despair.

From the bits and pieces we got from Amer, the abuse had been going on for over a year. The driver had threatened that if Amer even whispered a word of this to anyone, the driver would kill all of us. My little baby had been terrified into silence. The thought that Amer had been living this frightful nightmare for so long devastated me completely. There would be times I would be sitting at the dining table, or cooking, or driving to work and suddenly the image of my Amer, scared and alone would enter my head. I would almost hear him screaming inside, longing to be saved. At these moments, I found it very difficult to control my tears.

Through this emotional turmoil, I felt more than ever before, the need for support from my husband, and yet he remained far from it all. He could barely discuss anything with me any more .He would spend long hours at work, and would avoid talking about the incident even when he was home. He continued to feel that I was over-reacting, that it was best to forget it all and simply move on. I wondered if he was hurting as much as I or if he even cared. There was no way for me to know. If only he had shared something with me, it would have made a difference. But he went on dealing with it in his own way, denying.

And Amer, how many he must have suffered through all of this. First the terror of silence and continued abuse, and then total lack of support from those who loved him. We had talked about it with him once, maybe twice, but had agreed that less said about it the easier it would be to put it behind us and move on. How wrong we had been! We had let him deal with the pain all on his own.. Just as before. It was months later that things began to change and life became worth living again.

Despite protests from my husband and the rest of the family, I got Amer into counseling and had occasional sessions for myself as well. Things began to fall vague to me before. I learnt that child sexual abuse could happen to anyone, anywhere it was not my fault nor neither my husband's nor Amer's.. It was the fault of the man who had violated my son's innocence.. My child had not provoked it in anyway; he had not allowed it to happen. he had been helpless. I had not neglected my son nor brought him up badly. I learnt that we were not the only family picked out of million too be subjected to this. I also learned that in a way, we were lucky that the abuse had been discovered so early. I found out that very often, abuse was never discovered at all, or only after many, many years, because although there were always some signs in children who had been abused, they were not always as clear and drastic as Amer's. The guilt I was feeling was normal too. Although I had begun to feel shattered and alone, the realization that my family and I were not abnormal, that we were not evil or inadequate brought some relief to me. Another consolation I got was when my counselor told me that healing was possible, that my son wasn't crippled for life. Children are strong beings, the therapist told me reassuringly, and that we would all get through it. She was the one person who told me that I had done the right thing to seek counseling.. And now I know that she was right.

We are now year away from the nightmare. Things are beginning to make sense again. The process of recovery wasn't easy for long, long time. Facing feelings we had never talked about to anyone where being brought up to the surface and for a while it hurt even more. But looking back now, I realize that one of the things that saved me from breaking apart, was the support I received from the therapist and with it, of course, the positive change I was beginning to see in Amer.

I feel strange, yet strengthened as I write all of this. Perhaps this is so because through all those months of suffering I had longed for someone to tell me what was happening, to prepare me even to some extent for what would happen next. I had longed to talk to someone, to share my pain, to cry with, but I had never felt that anyone would understand.

I hope that all of you parents out their will, in some way, benefit from my story and known that there is hope and that you are not alone or helpless.

Happy moments have become a part of our lives again. Amer has started to laugh, to smile again, to hug me again, to talk to me again. No one has forgotten what happened. no one ever can, but because we have dealt with something so difficult, we feel closer and stronger as a family.