The Emotional Impact of Reporting Sexual Abuse : A Survivor’s Story
Written by Teresa Whiting
I sat alone, my insides convulsing. When the call ended and I hung up, the dam burst. I fell to the floor and wept. Wept over my lost innocence. Wept over the years of silence, wept over the utter aloneness I felt at that moment. It was a long time before I lifted myself from the carpet and, on wobbly legs, moved to the couch, where the tears continued to flow.
"This is grief. Feel it in its fullness. You have every reason to weep. You don't have to put a timeline on this." I felt Jesus speaking these compassionate words over me. He was there. Holding me, pulling me close under the shadow of His wings. He knew the sting of enduring pain with no one by His side. And though He was a true comforter, I wished He had skin on.
It had been over thirty-five years since the sexual abuse ended. And it had been over six years since I first spoke publicly about my past. I was in the midst of publishing a Bible study about the women whose sexual brokenness helped me break free from the grip of shame. Women like Rahab, Tamar, and Bathsheba, whose sexual scars made them perfect candidates for God's redemption and restoration. And though I had taught women the power of sharing their painful stories, I had not shared the intimate details of my abuse with anyone. I was unprepared for the waves of grief that washed over me.
A few months prior, a relative had filed a report and told me to expect a call from a detective from the town where I had grown up. When the call came, I was home alone, working on my Bible study. My husband was at work. All my grown children were out of the house, and I was still reeling from the newness of an empty nest.
I saw the name and number of the police department scroll across my phone, and my stomach twisted. I knew what this call would be about. I picked up my phone and slid my finger to the right to answer.
"Hello, is this Teresa Whiting?"
"Yes"
"This is Detective H— with the M— Police Department. A report has been filed, and I have been told to contact you. If this is not a good time, we can schedule this call for another day."
It's already begun. Let's get it over with.
"Now is fine."
"Are you willing to give your testimony?"
"Yes."
"Would you be willing to testify publicly if this goes to court?"
I didn't want this to be public. I didn't want to go to court. I didn't want my perpetrator to go to jail. I thought it would be good if he were simply registered as a sex offender. But, as the detective explained, that would not be my decision. I hesitated.
Inspired by a recent book I had read by Rachel Denhollander, determined to report criminal activity (no matter how delayed), and for the sake of other potential victims, I swallowed hard and gathered my courage.
"Yes. I'd be willing to testify publicly."
"Are you sure? There is no reason to put you through this if you are unwilling to testify in court."
"I'm willing."
For the next forty-five minutes, I recounted details to Detective H— that I had never spoken aloud. He asked me specific questions about the nature of the abuse. When? Where? How often? Did it include this or that? When we hung up, I felt wrung out, dirty, and nauseated. That's when I crumpled to the floor and wept.
The Painful Price of Keeping Silent
It wasn't simply reliving the memories but the sad realization that I had silently carried the details of my sexual abuse alone for so many years. Until that day, speaking with a complete stranger, I had never revealed the whole story. I had not recounted the when, where, how, and what until that phone call. Now, Detective H— and I were the only humans holding the sordid details of my narrative.
Obviously, I was long overdue for finding a therapist. But when I had broached the subject with the dean of women at my college many years prior, I had been silenced. "You don't need to tell your fiance or anyone else about this," was her counsel. I had taken those words to heart and, for many years, had kept my story hidden. (I gave my fiance, now my husband, a very mild summary of my abuse before we were married. I also began sharing about my abuse when I started my speaking ministry. But, for many years, I felt responsible for keeping my abuse a secret. We now know the untold damage caused by carrying painful secrets. This might be why I am passionate about helping women find safe spaces to share their stories!)
After the sadness came the anger. I don't fault my family and friends. What could they have said or asked? "So, tell me all the details of your sexual abuse"? I understood. But I couldn't help feeling like something was terribly wrong with the whole scenario. I wished there were others around me. Others who could relate. Others who could sit with me in solidarity. Maybe a small community of women who could help me hold my hard story. It was so weighty. Even though I had walked through much healing, this was a heavy burden.
The Importance of a Safe Community
At that moment, I realized the necessity of community like never before. We are social beings. Created in the image of a triune God. Designed to live with and for, and interdependent on one another. We are made to support, encourage, love one another, and bear each other's burdens. I know I am not alone. I have spoken to women in their seventies and eighties who have been carrying secrets for decades. This should never be.
When Jesus was asked about the greatest commandment, He answered with these words: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.' The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these." Mark 12:30-31 (NIV)
Later, Paul instructed the Galatians, "Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." Galatians 6:2 (NIV). Undoubtedly, the law of love includes bearing one another's burdens. But how can we carry what we do not know?
The resounding theme of Scripture is one of presence. All through its pages, God reveals His pursuit of us. We were made for “with-ness”. We were created to be seen, known, celebrated, comforted, affirmed, and supported in the context of our relationship with God and others. It is here in this place of connection that hope is formed, not in isolation and not through technology. Healing begins when we get honest with each other and forge the courage to enter into one another’s struggles. Where can we go to do this hard and holy work?
My experience has stoked a fire in me to create safe spaces for others so they don't feel isolated in their pain. I am excited to partner with two skilled, licensed, and experienced therapists to offer a life-giving experience…because we don't want one more woman to tend her wounds alone.
Practical Steps to Healing From Trauma
What is your sacred story? Oh, friend, you do not have to carry it alone. Here are four practical things you can do right now to begin your healing journey from trauma:
Find one safe friend with whom you can be authentic. Be the courageous one and share your story first. Commit to praying for and checking in with one another weekly.
Gather a small group of trusted individuals who can share encouragement and support. Together, work through the Bible study, Graced: How God Redeems and Restores the Broken. Build time into your weekly schedule for women to share their stories.
Sign up for the Hope Restored Trauma Intensive, where you will discover the power of sharing your narrative in a supportive, compassionate, and empathetic community.
Find a therapist who can help you begin your healing journey.
Teresa Whiting is passionate about helping women discover the beautiful, redemptive work of Jesus in the midst of their broken lives. As a pastor's wife and ministry leader of almost 30 years, she has walked with countless women through their real-life struggles.
Teresa is a national speaker and host of the Find Hope Here podcast, who holds a degree in Bible and counseling. Her recently published Bible study, DisGraced: How God Redeems and Restores the Broken, is an outworking of her own story. A survivor of childhood sexual abuse, Teresa has found healing and freedom from shame through friendship with women like Tamar, Rahab, and the Samaritan woman.
She and her husband, Greg, have five adult children and two grandsons. They are recent empty nesters living in central Florida. In her happy place, you'll find her walking the beach, hanging out with her family, or exploring God's creation, untethered from technology.
Teresa speaks locally and nationally for women's events. Her talks have been described as "unique, refreshing, relatable, and healing."
