Reunion Online

 Hope is essential to life, especially for those who are forced (or choose) to deal with painful experiences from our past. By biblical (and practical) definition, hope is only possibly when we have not yet obtained that which we are hoping for. "Hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance" (Romans 8:24-25). To endure painful circumstances we must develop a vision of a brighter future, one that is free of our current pain and hardship.

 I don't know how he got my telephone number and he never told me his name. As soon as I identified myself, he blurted: "Why should a man tell anyone about his abuse?"

"He doesn't need to tell anyone. He can keep it a secret until he dies," I said.

"But talking is just talking—just mere words."

Certain he was referring to himself, I asked, "Have you ever told anyone?"

After a long silence, he mumbled, "No."

I remember the interview like it was yesterday. The year was 1984, and I was a oh-so-young, oh-so-green social work student conducting an interview with a veteran gay activist at our local GLBTQ center. (Mind you, many of those letters weren’t spoken of back then). I was 24 years-old, straight-define, and I literally quivered with nervousness at being, for the first time in my life, in queer-defined space. My purpose of the meeting—to research the history and advocacy of the centre for my studies in community development—belied my internal emotional state.

The following post is the second in a mini-series by Aaron Kesseler about his journey through healing as a survivor of child sexual abuse.. You can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

The commencement speaker at my niece’s graduation this past weekend startled some in the audience when he noted that having to overcome adversity is a normal part of a achieving a fulfilling life.

In conversation with my friend Beth, I mentioned that even though I knew the molestation in childhood wasn't my fault, I still felt shame and guilt over my abuse as if I had failed in some way. "I keep thinking that only if I—"

"You shouldn't feel that way," Beth said.

Before I could respond, she listed my achievements (as if I didn't know them) and told me how much she admired me for the way I had dealt with my painful childhood.

"But still—"

"You don't deserve to feel that way."

The following is a guest post from athlete, advocate, author and fearless Joyful Heart supporter, Katie Hnida. If you—like we do—find yourself inspired by her story of healing, of overcoming fear and of finding her a way to support other survivors and stop the violence, we invite you to join us in turning towards the issues of sexual assault, domestic violence and child abuse by becoming a member of the Joyful Revolution Athletic Club.

About three years ago, I made a gut-wrenching decision that would alter my life forever. At that time, I was in the middle of a breakdown of sorts. I wasn’t sure why I was in the middle of a breakdown—and for that I was confused—but since I couldn’t manage my anger and emotions,  I decided to quit my job in advertising, a job that many people would kill for.

The following post is the second in a mini-series by Aaron Kesseler. You can read his first post here and look out for more in the coming months for more about his journey through healing as a survivor of child sexual abuse.