***Trigger Warning – mentions elements of sexual abuse against a child/teenager which readers may find graphic in detail
Seeking Help
I never told anyone during the process of what was happening to me, but when I felt pushed to the brink of my breaking point, I began to look for someone I thought could help me. I tried turning to the older woman of the class, a divorcee and single mother of a son (who also attended the class). I thought that if I said something to her, she might be sparked in some way to respond or do something. I thought it was worth the try because I was desperate to have the instructor leave me alone.
During a period of days when my siblings fell ill for about two weeks, I was the only one attending martial arts sessions. Since it was just me, one of my parents would drop me off. I made it a point to make sure to arrive early because I knew the older woman always did, and the instructor and his family were always late. So we would often have to sit outside of the building because it would be locked.
On this particular occasion when I showed up, the older woman was there. She smiled at me and had casual conversation with me. Even though I was not a talker and hated indulging in surface talk and meaningless chit-chat, I did what I had to do to wade through the conversation with her so that I could get a break in the conversation to the main topic. When I saw an opening, I took it.
I used a hypothetical situation because I was unsure of her loyalties. I knew for certain, though, that she absolutely adored the instructor. I watched as he also flirted with her, had extensive conversations with her, and helped her son. I did not necessarily believe that he was doing any of those things for my advantage either. I believed that this was his format of operation. He was a slick talker, and he needed to keep people as his allies just in case.
So I treaded very carefully with the way I approached the topic with the older woman while I read through her micro-expressions and responses. I simply told her that a friend of mine was having problems with an adult male who was touching her inappropriately and wondered what she needed to do to make it stop so that nothing worse would happen. The woman looked at me with concern and said with great passion that my friend needed to share this information with an adult.
So I agreed with the woman … that the information needed to be shared with an adult, but then I told her that the man had made it so that the friend could not tell adults around her because no one would believe her. The man had set it up for her not to be believed. Then the woman said something surprising that stuck with me a while after, “Then your friend should find out who his family members are and tell them. Even if this man’s family won’t believe your friend, it will be enough information to bring shock to their systems. It will disgrace them. I guarantee you it will set things aflame in his family and that man just might leave her alone. If that doesn’t work, she should go to the police.”
I thanked the woman for her words, and she gave me a huge hug. I do not know if she suspected that the “friend” was me and that “the man” was the instructor though. She never gave me any indication that she was aware that anything was going on, but she was nice enough to listen to me and provide a response. It was a response that I held onto in case I might need it. No sooner than we became comfortable sitting around waiting after our discussion and hug fest, the instructor and his family showed up. Class was about to be in session, and I was the main course or the instructor.
Giving In But Holding Out With A Prayer
Looking back, one might say I could have told someone I was suffering, but unless you stepped into my shoes to understand what I was dealing with, then it is just best to know that I did what I had to do as a then 14-year-old ninth grader to end the abuse. I did not have the proper tools. No one had taught me. There was no school of learning for what I experienced and went through. I had to learn on my own how to protect myself.
I did what I had to do to survive, and although it may not have worked for someone else, I had to make it work for me. I came to the point where I did not see a way out of the abuse, so I made the choice to dissociate as much as my brain would allow me to so that I could bear what the instructor wanted to do to me. I gave in, but I held out with a prayer that God would send rescue. I so desperately needed it.
After talking with the woman and half-confessing to her using the friend scenario, I took a chance on saving myself by fighting my own way. I acquiesced to the demands of the instructor, but in word only, with the intention of stalling and getting him to think about his actions. I figured that if I spoke to him about how his behavior made me feel, he might look at me as a person and not the “object” he treated me as.
When the time came for a break, I found myself in the foyer alone with him, and he went in for a kiss from me. It was breaking my resolve from the inside of me to allow his deviant behavior, but I stopped him and asked him.
Me: Why do you do this to me when I don’t like it? You’re a married man. I’m just a few years older than your children and sister.
He was caught off guard – not expecting a conversation. He seemed to ignore my words and instead came in for a hug to pull me close.
Me: Answer me please. Why do you do this when I don’t like it?
The Instructor: Sure you like it. I know you like it, and you like me.
Me: No. I don’t. I don’t like you at all. I thought I liked you, but you aren’t a good person. You’re actually a mean person. So why would I like you when you’re actually mean?
He took a step backwards and looked at me closely. His smile faded into a half smile. He seemed unsure what was happening in the moment, but he did not allow that to deter his grasp of me. He pulled me into him even harder then lifted me up on top of a table. I realized that I had never seen the table before and did not know where it came from. I instantly reasoned within my mind that he had set it there on purpose. He had a plan all along.
Inside of the studio, the class was being led by his son. By this point, he had chosen different students to lead warm ups and opening sessions. So it had become a routine for him to simply vanish. He claimed that I had never been chosen to lead because I still had a lot of work to do, but we both knew the true reason I was not chosen to lead.
I wondered if anyone had noticed that I was gone. I thought about the woman and wondered if it might have even registered to her that I was “the friend and the man was the instructor”. I could only hope, but no one came out.
I was now up on the table in a sitting position while the instructor gently but firmly pushed me back. He climbed up on the table and got on top of me. I could feel the weight of his body pressing against me. I could smell him. I could hear his heavy breathing. I could feel his body moving.
Me: I don’t want this. Please get off of me. This is wrong of you to do.
The Instructor: But you like it. You know you like it.
Me: No. I don’t. I don’t like it.
I felt frozen. My body stiffened. I felt myself zoning out to allow myself to get through whatever was happening at that moment. The instructor’s eyes were fixated and looking completely through me. I watched as his eyes turned black. They were like small beads. I wanted to scream, but I could not. I could not make a sound.
I turned my head away from the instructor’s gaze as he made grinding movements on top of me and attempted to kiss me. I looked out the window, and I suddenly realized why he had chosen to make this particular building his perfect spot. It was secluded away from the main roads and streets. It was near a park and recreational center and did not have very many visitors.
I wondered if I were his only target and victim. There had to have been more, but I was the only girl my age in the class. I was the only teenager. Besides my sister, his sister, and the older woman, everyone else were boys. He could not have planned this better – singling me out as a target of his darkness. He was a predator. He was a sexual predator.
Despite being in full view of glass windows, the instructor had no shame in his actions against a teenager. He continued to grind on me until I was saved by the surprising sound of a vehicle.
Fighting My Own Way
I thought that I could fight my own way and somehow talk the instructor out of his madness, but he had a sick and twisted mind. Unfortunately for me, he was hellbent on doing what he wanted to do with me.
Although nothing progressed into a far worse situation for me, it was still a traumatic experience of sexual abuse against me. I actually split off into other selves trying to cope. It was a high-anxiety-ridden time for me. I feared what was to come if he continued, and I did not know what to do. Avenues of help did not seem very forth-coming for me.
What does one do when the predator wins over the entire family or uses family members against you? I was a teenager trying to navigate a volatile situation. I had not realized the dangers that it truly presented to me until after the fact.
In my other life, I was a freshman in high school, and I was struggling to cope with life in general. I was dealing with anger, depression, anxiety, PTSD, and suicidal ideation. This situation with the instructor had basically wrecked my entire life.
I was losing the battle, and for whatever reason, my brain would not allow me to dissociate completely from this situation. There must have been far too much for it to file. Or perhaps, I simply needed to realize my fight, and I needed to realize I had a voice even if no one would listen, and that is when the words of the older woman took flight.
I gave in because I wanted the abuses against my brother and sister to stop, and then I held out with hope and a prayer that something would force the instructor to stop. I was saved by the sound of a vehicle.
Stay tuned for the next post on The Instructor.
My Voice Unchained 