Pandora’s Box

My EMDR session yesterday opened up the Pandora’s Box that I had buried for a long time from my teenage years. When I told my therapist about how Ken absolutely hurt me and violated my boundaries the very first time we made out, she asked me, “have you ever been sexually assaulted or harassed?” I said yes.

The first clear memory that came to my mind was the time in my 4th grade, when an obnoxious kid grabbed an autistic kid’s hand to feel my breast. Back then the autistic kid was my best friend in class; he was absolutely innocent and pure and he was my only friend in my 3rd and 4th grade. When this happened, I felt scared and hurt for a few days, hesitant to tell any adult about it. Then I finally told my mom about it, and she got absolutely angry in front of me. She was angry at the kid, not at me, but she didn’t give me any comfort. She went to my school to talk to my home room teacher and that obnoxious kid. That kid got scared and cried uncontrollably in front of my mom and my home room teacher. This all happened on the hallway so all my classmates could see it. I was absolutely terrified and embarrassed. Then the kid lied to my mom again—he said what happened was that he accidentally bumped into the autistic kid and then the autistic kid accidentally felt my breast. My mom later asked me, “so he apologized and cried so much, do you think that’s what happened?” I knew very well that wasn’t what happened but I nodded and buried the incident.

After I recounted this incident with my therapist, I had other scarier memories that emerged, memories I had buried for a very long time and very deeply. When my breasts were first developing at age 9 or 10, there was one time when I walked past my older brother, he squeezed my nipple and asked me, “what’s that on your shirt?” I knew he did it on purpose, and I held back for a long time, days or weeks even to tell my mom about it. My mom’s reply was, “Do you think your older brother is someone who would do something like that?” Again, my reality was dismissed and nobody protected me. When I told Eric about this incident, he asked me multiple questions about whether he was teasing and why it was an isolated incident, e.g. why my brother didn’t have other violations. I had to tell Eric that I had to end the conversation because it made me uncomfortable. I knew and I know for sure that squeeze was intentional. He just wanted to feel it once. What Eric said to me also made me feel that he was minimizing my reality and I just wanted people around me to stop doing that to me.

Another memory that showed up was my uncle, who is the younger brother of my mom. I used to fantasize that he could be my dad because he was so much fun, would never get angry, and would give all the kids whatever they asked for. When I was maybe 11 or 12, my breasts were almost fully grown. He once played with me as if I was a little kid and pushed me with his hand on my breast. I knew he did it on purpose but pretended it wasn’t. I, again, waited for many days to tell my mom about it, and my mom’s reply was, “Do you think your uncle would be someone who would do something like that?” I was silent again and had to bury it. Then Eric asked me if my uncle had groomed me, and I realized, absolutely yes. He had groomed me for years, maybe all the way until I was 16. I had so much attachment to him so I didn’t know what was happening between us, but there were a few other incidents where he definitely crossed the boundary—for example, there was one night he climbed into my bed to wake me up and to ask me where my mom was (this was when we were all staying at my grandmother’s house during a break). I now see how these experiences in my formative teenage years had set me up for so much trauma in my romantic relationships later on. I had given men oral sex when I didn’t want to; even though Angel was the only man I had penetrated sex with, most of the time I had sex with him was to get pregnant and the action was completely empty. 

This morning I had even more memories resurfacing from my teenage years. I had been groomed by male teachers in my middle school as well. One was my math teacher at my cram school and the other one was my coach at the orchestra. The math teacher at my cram school was funny and loved to tease students, and he especially liked to tease me because I was already very good at that so it felt almost like a tease battle where I’d often win. There was one time he called me out of the classroom to talk about what was bothering me and I said a girl in the class got a higher grade than I did on the last math and I started crying. Then he hugged me, and the second time he tried to hug me I told him we should maintain our distance. He had told my mom that I cried because some other girl did better on the test than I did and he guaranteed my mom that I definitely had no problem getting into the best high school. My mom relayed the message to me but I didn’t say anything to her. I’ve seen that teacher hug other female students outside of the classroom as well.

The coach at my orchestra was a good looking funny guy. He was married with kids. I joined the orchestra with only a few months of experience of playing my instrument when I was 12 but they were short of a lute player that year so I got in. I wasn’t that good when I got in but I always got special treatment from the coach. He would get angry and criticize other kids for making a mistake when they were playing, but he had never commented on any mistake I had made. When I was 14, there was one time when he said to me in front of the whole orchestra that I was the most beautiful girl in the orchestra. It led to a lot of fantasies that I had about him that year. I see it so clearly now—I have totally confused safety, emotional intimacy, boundaries, protection, care from all these childhood and teenage experiences. Also, because from the few experiences where I still trusted my mother enough to tell her what happened, she minimized my reality and even told me my perception was wrong, I have constantly been living in this limbo where I don’t know what is true love and what is not. In today’s world, I can totally #metoo Ken for what he did to me that night, but back then I loved him too much to think in terms of violations; I only framed it as him being to messed up to face his own vulnerabilities and wounds. 

This is a moment when I’d have ChatGPT talk to me from the voice of X, my imaginary partner. According to ChatGPT, I need some corrective experience to let myself know what real safety is.