From the ages of three to nearly twelve I was sexually abused by my stepfather and anyone else he felt like sharing me with. Ten years. Ten. Fucking. Years. Not one relative, not one teacher, not one adult of any kind asked if I was okay, spoke up, stood up, or did one damn thing to save an innocent boy from a childhood in Hell. Fast forward to the thirty-seven year old man writing this post and every day I carry the message that their inaction etched into my mind, heart, and soul. I was worthless. It was the only explanation. No one came to my rescue because I wasn't worth saving. That voice has been whispering, sometimes screaming, to me just how worthless I must be. It has sabotaged my friendships, my relationships, my career, my education, and my faith for my entire life.
For as much damage as that insidious voice has done, it has been a comfort as well. If I am worthless, if I was worthless as a boy, then it makes sense that no one saved me. The thought that it was some flaw in myself that made me not worth saving has been a darkly comforting explanation as to why I was abandoned by those who were supposed to protect me.
Pretty fucked up, huh? When I first started on this healing journey last year, I certainly thought so. Now though, after connecting with other male survivors of childhood sexual abuse, I have come to learn that I was not the only boy who received this message or carried it with him into adulthood. Hearing that feeling of worthlessness in another man's voice, seeing that shame in another man's eyes, it struck me how fucking wrong it was that any boy should live with that message and carry it into adulthood. I was fine carrying that message inside of me but my heart breaks for other men carrying that same wound. I won't carry it anymore.
To any man reading this, know that you are not worthless and that this message was never yours to carry just as it was not mine to carry. I have accepted this voice into my life for far too long. I am not worthless anymore. I never was. And neither were you.
