My beloved father betrayed me- a true story of abuse

 Who am I?

I grew up in (what seemed to be) the best of homes. We always had many guests over on Shabbos, and people would always say to me, "you are so lucky that you have such an amazing family - your parents are such incredible people..." on and on. My friends would love coming to my home. My father is a dynamic talmid chacham who is a rabbi in a prominent shul. He is humble, wise and loving. My mother is a loving and sensitive person who is widely respected for her concern for others and her piety. My parents are leaders of a Jewish community whose counsel is sought for people with shalom bayis problems. They receive many calls asking for advice about how to raise children. They give chanson and kallah classes, and they deal with helping couples that were separated get back together. No one would ever dream that they themselves had significant sick psychological problems.

Everything looked so perfect from the outside. But what was really confusing to me was that in my childish eyes, everything looked so perfect from the inside as well. As children we all think that our parents are perfect. We copy everything that they do because we are programmed to trust that everything they do is right. I also thought whatever my parents do must be good. This discrepancy - between the fact that my father was doing something seriously wrong to me and the fact that it was my wonderful father who was doing it – was so terrifying that it led me not to trust my judgment. Even though I sensed that what my father was doing was weird, I just assumed that I was oversensitive. I thought I was crazy. One would have to be crazy to believe that a couple who counsels other couples and gives many people in the community advice on child raising could be themselves be hurting each other and their children.

That is why I lived as a victim of abuse for a decade without realizing what was going on. The abuse that I suffered just did not fit in with my belief that I had a "perfect" family. Yes, I knew that my Father touched me in ways that made me uncomfortable. Yes, I knew that he took off my clothing at night and fondled me. Yes, I eventually learned that this is considered molestation. Yet I unconsciously refused to put two and two together to avoid arriving at the rotten truth that I was actually being molested by my wonderful father.

What happened?

When I hit puberty as a pre-teen, my father was always extremely interested in my physical development. He would make all sorts of inappropriate comments and even would outright tell me that he enjoys watching my body change etc. He told me that he likes when I wear lycra shirts. He’d ask me why I wouldn’t let him see me in my bathing suit. I remember once when I was eleven, that I had fallen asleep in bed in my towel after coming out of the shower. I woke up to feel a breeze of air on my body and though surprised, I pretended to still be sleeping as I heard my father say "Isn’t she beautiful..." and heard my mother saying "Oh sweetie, put the towel back on her- she’ll be so embarrassed if she wakes up." Although at this young age I was physically very developed, I was not mature enough emotionally to know that this was wrong. As a young girl I just took it for granted that this was normal behavior, and instead of being annoyed at my father I was just ashamed of myself and held all the embarrassment inside.

Because I eventually got used to the idea that his comments were okay, I did not resist when he undressed me for the first time. He continued to sexually harass me every so often through out my teenage years by very inappropriate fondling. When I was about 15 I think I started to wonder if this was considered appropriate behavior, and I thought to call up a different rav and ask him, but I was afraid of exposing my father and the shame that would cause my father. So I didn’t, and I figured, ‘my father is a talmid chacham, he probably would know if this is prohibited,’ so I just let him continue doing it.

How it affected me:

The sexual abuse that I experienced affected me in numerous ways. I will try to explain a few of the basic effects that suffering abuse had on me. First and foremost having this history made me feel dirty and inferior. It also caused me not to trust my judgment, as I explained above. It may be hard to understand, but the experience also caused me to want to be taken advantage of again. It caused me to need that kind of attention. To want someone to be obsessed with me to the extent that they don’t care to break rules in order to have me. I will attempt to clarify how the abuse messed with my mind and affected me in the ways that I have listed.

I felt guilty because I was sure my heart was twisted. I thought it was my fault that I was attacked. I judged myself to be no better than a prostitute and concluded that therefore I’m bad. In retrospect the logic of this thought process is hard to understand, but that is exactly how I thought at the time. (It took over a year in therapy to understand identify and understand where my feeling of "I’m bad" was coming from.)

This feeling of "I’m bad" painted the way I saw everything about myself. I realize now that having a low self esteem negatively affected my academic performance, my confidence to perform in high school productions and in in just about every situation and relationship. My relationship with myself, my friends, my teachers and G‑d all had to overcome barriers as a result.

Having a low self esteem made me want to listen to gross music because the noise kept me company when I was in my low moods and emotionally crazy mess. Listening to Jewish music just made me feel bad about myself, because it seemed much more pure and holy than I felt I was.

The void of positive self regard was filled instead with feeling good about myself for being glamorous and because I was able to be pleasing others by giving them gratification. I recall my father starring me down and saying "Do you realize that you are like a big delicious walking ice cream scoop?" He would come home from a hard day and say "I don’t feel good- if you would come hug me in bed that would make me feel better" and then beg me "don’t leave!" Usually I’d listen, but if I disobeyed sometimes he’s lock his strong arms around me and not let me go. But even when I struggled to go free I wanted him to keep me. Being abused is kind of addictive as will be furthur explained in my journal entries below.

It also made shidduchim much more difficult then it should have been for me. I was a charming girl and many guys wanted to marry me but I found it very hard to say yes. I was afraid to trust. I remember passing up one particular guy that I realy liked ... I just couldn’t get the yes out of my mouth. I remembered I cried after I broke up with him. I was so sad that I missed out. I remember desperately wishing that I could just trust someone.

But my lack of trust was not simply that I was afraid that my husband might betray or hurt me. It was much more complex and unhealthy than that. As a result of the excessive and unnatural attention that I got from my father, I became almost addicted to the need for arousing and emotionally intense attention. I wanted and needed that type of intense experience again and I was worried that the man I would marry would not be as obsessed with me as my father. Thank G‑d after much therapy this issue has been resolved.