We Are Survivors 

This blog is dedicated to the tens of millions of adult survivors of child abuse and neglect who get up every day and try to work and function in a world that seems to not care about us.

Long-Term Sexual Impact of Child Abuse

There have been many studies documenting the effect child abuse has on many women’s sexual activity later in life. Naturally, these problems impact a woman’s ability to sustain a loving, long-term, intimate relationship.

The development of children is impacted by child sexual abuse in a number of ways1.

  • The acquisition of a sense that the world is a safe place,
  • Children’s emerging sense of themselves as active agents with some control over their world, and
  • Their developing self-esteem.

Studies have revealed the impact of sexual abuse on adult sexual functioningas:

  • An inability to enjoy sex, relax during sex, or a lack of interest in sex;
  • An inability to initiate sex, difficulty in mutual masturbation, and a feeling of revulsion about their sexuality;
  • Having difficulty in reaching orgasm;
  • Unable to trust men; and
  • A disruption of intimacy and the caring and emotional closeness in their relationship.

Research shows that a victim of sexual abuse needs to feel physically safe, in control and relaxed before she can begin to rebuild her sexual relationship. Once safety has been established, the couple can explore and begin to work on the sexual difficulties. When trying to move forward, it is common for the issues of trust and betrayal to be activated.  She needs to feel a sense of control over where she is touched and that her wishes are responded to appropriately.

Sexually abused women can become overstimulated during sex and need to be able to stop the sexual activity at that point. Traumatic memories may have been activated, and it is important for the woman to gradually tolerate and move beyond those feelingsbut at her pace. The whole goal is to allow the woman to establish safety within the relationship and to regain control over her sexuality.

 1 “The Effects of Childhood Sexual Abuse on Female Sexuality: A Model Intervention,” Lee-anne Marendaz and Kaye Wood, Eastern Centre Against Sexual Assault, VIC, September 1999

2 Ibid

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Understanding Emotional Abuse
Billions Paid to States Because of Child Abuse
 

Comments 3

angelangel10 on Wednesday, 25 May 2016 19:32

When will this be addressed? The time is NOW!
Growing up was a mixture of turmoil, grief, cries, darkness with some light in my tunnel. No other recollection of many things. My mother was my cross, until that day, the day I first remember. As I sleep in the night awaken by an ora, moist hands and hot wind. Not able to see but to feel the touch of hands and the heavy breathing, a night that lasted for years. That was the day my cross fell. My protector flew off in the wind.

Beautiful with milky white skin, but the smell of cigerette. Laughter, happiness seemed to fill the space until I engaged in the room full of hopelessness. Not much recolection other than that. My mother and sperm donor were divorsed. I didn't know him not even a face did I see ever. All that remained of memories now were of molestation and all that had to follow and of course my tunnel where I saw a glimpse of light, hope, love. My grandparents were my light.

I can remember my days counting down to the weekends when my grandpa would show up to collect me for his time, my time of getting away, escaping. Although my mempories are few, I do remember my joys with them,and even a few with my mom. I grew up in southern California untill my grandparents decided to relocate to Portland in 77. That was the day it ended. Physically anyway. My every move, thought and step was on eggshells praying that yes indeed it had stopped for good. It had. Only for the worse to come, the aftermath. Years of trying to just survive, protect myself, what soon became protecting my younger sister then protecting my only daughter from evil. Had I done so? Had I succeeded? Yes from the evil that was in my house.

I remember, well I remember my moms stories of weekends my mom would drop me and now unclear faces, names of my friends at Disneyland. Surely we must have had a great time. I do remember then that it was free to get in and you bought coupon books A, B, C, D, E, and F coupons, always D, E and F remaining last for the not so fun rides. I was in Girl Scouts what couldn't have been for long. My mother really didn't like other peoples kids then, so surely shes couldn't have lasted long as the mother hen, so to speak. I remember beaches at times. Most of all I remember everyone calling me bubble butt. It was horible. It probably wouldn't have been had I not grew up the way I did, but it was just aweful. I was a cutt little thing with a chunkiness to me. (laughter)

We lived in a upper middle class neighborhood. I remember sun. We lived on Mt. Arart Cir. Later to find out that it was named after the Mountaim, which the spelling was wrong.

I dreamed of fire a lot. I was terrified most of the time, and mostly at night night.

Looking back over the years, getting older I realized I had surpressed most of my younger life. Only to inter a young adult life of chaos.

I now know as an adult of 50, what those acts had done to me and I wasn't alone.

I have gone through many changes in my life, hurt many people, making them pay for the one act so dispecable that came from a man, my step father, whom I never even remember loving. Just loving the woman who he married that betrayed me. How could she not know? I'm sure she knew. The things she said let me know she knew and she didn't protect me.

I never remember my mother working then, although she always did. She was a career woman but I never took notice to anything except that she wasn't there in my room at night. Until that one night when my door crept open and she stood in my doorway, darkness covered us except the line of light from the hallway that went from the door to my sisters crib, and then it closed again. Never to be spoken about. Never did I utter a peep when I had the chance, as if I was doing something wrong. She just left me there alone with him.

My baby sister was born in 73 and I just knew it would stop then. It didn't, it got worse. I would change my room around, placing my bed at the furthiest corner. It didn't help. I baricaded myself with dolls, pillows and everything I could imagine to. It didn't help. Only to have them removed by my mother because everthing was getting wet because I now pee'd the bed.

So you see my momories only run do deep, one sided maybe? I don't know, I rack my brain to remember things and a lot of the times I do, but are they only because I see pictures and hear stories of them? I can't say, there are some good stories, and some fun pictures, but I remember them differently if at all.

0
When will this be addressed? The time is NOW! Growing up was a mixture of turmoil, grief, cries, darkness with some light in my tunnel. No other recollection of many things. My mother was my cross, until that day, the day I first remember. As I sleep in the night awaken by an ora, moist hands and hot wind. Not able to see but to feel the touch of hands and the heavy breathing, a night that lasted for years. That was the day my cross fell. My protector flew off in the wind. Beautiful with milky white skin, but the smell of cigerette. Laughter, happiness seemed to fill the space until I engaged in the room full of hopelessness. Not much recolection other than that. My mother and sperm donor were divorsed. I didn't know him not even a face did I see ever. All that remained of memories now were of molestation and all that had to follow and of course my tunnel where I saw a glimpse of light, hope, love. My grandparents were my light. I can remember my days counting down to the weekends when my grandpa would show up to collect me for his time, my time of getting away, escaping. Although my mempories are few, I do remember my joys with them,and even a few with my mom. I grew up in southern California untill my grandparents decided to relocate to Portland in 77. That was the day it ended. Physically anyway. My every move, thought and step was on eggshells praying that yes indeed it had stopped for good. It had. Only for the worse to come, the aftermath. Years of trying to just survive, protect myself, what soon became protecting my younger sister then protecting my only daughter from evil. Had I done so? Had I succeeded? Yes from the evil that was in my house. I remember, well I remember my moms stories of weekends my mom would drop me and now unclear faces, names of my friends at Disneyland. Surely we must have had a great time. I do remember then that it was free to get in and you bought coupon books A, B, C, D, E, and F coupons, always D, E and F remaining last for the not so fun rides. I was in Girl Scouts what couldn't have been for long. My mother really didn't like other peoples kids then, so surely shes couldn't have lasted long as the mother hen, so to speak. I remember beaches at times. Most of all I remember everyone calling me bubble butt. It was horible. It probably wouldn't have been had I not grew up the way I did, but it was just aweful. I was a cutt little thing with a chunkiness to me. (laughter) We lived in a upper middle class neighborhood. I remember sun. We lived on Mt. Arart Cir. Later to find out that it was named after the Mountaim, which the spelling was wrong. I dreamed of fire a lot. I was terrified most of the time, and mostly at night night. Looking back over the years, getting older I realized I had surpressed most of my younger life. Only to inter a young adult life of chaos. I now know as an adult of 50, what those acts had done to me and I wasn't alone. I have gone through many changes in my life, hurt many people, making them pay for the one act so dispecable that came from a man, my step father, whom I never even remember loving. Just loving the woman who he married that betrayed me. How could she not know? I'm sure she knew. The things she said let me know she knew and she didn't protect me. I never remember my mother working then, although she always did. She was a career woman but I never took notice to anything except that she wasn't there in my room at night. Until that one night when my door crept open and she stood in my doorway, darkness covered us except the line of light from the hallway that went from the door to my sisters crib, and then it closed again. Never to be spoken about. Never did I utter a peep when I had the chance, as if I was doing something wrong. She just left me there alone with him. My baby sister was born in 73 and I just knew it would stop then. It didn't, it got worse. I would change my room around, placing my bed at the furthiest corner. It didn't help. I baricaded myself with dolls, pillows and everything I could imagine to. It didn't help. Only to have them removed by my mother because everthing was getting wet because I now pee'd the bed. So you see my momories only run do deep, one sided maybe? I don't know, I rack my brain to remember things and a lot of the times I do, but are they only because I see pictures and hear stories of them? I can't say, there are some good stories, and some fun pictures, but I remember them differently if at all.
angelangel10 on Wednesday, 25 May 2016 19:59

I am taking a Creative Writing class, because I want to be able to tell my story. A story that has hindered my life and probably others in my path. A story like many that need to be heard, this topic needs to be put out there, in family's, schools, churches, we need to stop being afraid and know this needs to be taught like any other subject in school.
I want this to inter every household, every Legislator needs to hear what this is doing to our nation.

0
I am taking a Creative Writing class, because I want to be able to tell my story. A story that has hindered my life and probably others in my path. A story like many that need to be heard, this topic needs to be put out there, in family's, schools, churches, we need to stop being afraid and know this needs to be taught like any other subject in school. I want this to inter every household, every Legislator needs to hear what this is doing to our nation.
Diane on Friday, 27 May 2016 10:42

I am very sorry to hear about what you have been through. We are cracking the ceiling of denial the more survivors speak out. We did nothing wrong, and perpetrators rarely spend any length of time in jail or prison - which is an outrage.

Keep up all the good work you are doing.

0
I am very sorry to hear about what you have been through. We are cracking the ceiling of denial the more survivors speak out. We did nothing wrong, and perpetrators rarely spend any length of time in jail or prison - which is an outrage. Keep up all the good work you are doing.

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