All sexually abused children grow up feeling they are ugly\u2026.or in my case, homely (there is a difference). My nose was too big; my teeth were crooked, my chin was too small and my hair was drab and thin. I ducked my head a lot hoping people couldn\u2019t see my face. I covered my mouth with my hand so no one could see my teeth. I prayed that I would never have any children as I didn\u2019t want to take a chance on them being ugly like I was. All of this started when I was 13, after my father began sexually abusing me.\u00a0 I shook with tremors and was so shy as to be timid and mousy. I was na\u00efve to the point of being socially retarded. The boys had a lot of fun at my expense.<\/p>\n
One time at a square dance in the country the caller refused to start each dance until everyone had a partner. I was never asked. So the local yokels would bid on me. I\u2019ll dance with her if you give me a quarter. I\u2019ll dance with her if you give me 50cents. <\/em>The bidding went on and on while I stood there wishing the floor would sink and I\u2019d fall into it. My humiliation was so great I told myself I was never coming again. (But I always did) At some point the bidding stopped and my escort yanked me out to the dance floor. I couldn\u2019t blame them. I was 14, weighed 86 pounds at 5 ft. 6 in. and was so flat chested that my boobs went in instead of coming out. One time in a Biology class one of the smart alecks made the statement, \u201cSpeaking of sticks, there\u2019s little Margie Leick.\u201d I cringed with shame.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t find out till many decades later that my emotional growth had stopped in time the year my father first raped me. I wasn\u2019t sure where babies came from and even when, in 10th<\/sup> grade, Sister Stephanie took all the girls in to the Sewing Room to explain the facts of life, I didn\u2019t understand what, \u201cThen the penis is inserted in to the vagina\u201d, meant. Whatever it was caused me great terror and dark shadows covered me. Later, I wondered how a nun knew how babies were made. As the result of my sexual abuse I didn\u2019t start menstruating until I was 17. I still had no idea what that had to do with making babies. I thought everyone told the truth. Wasn\u2019t it against the law to lie? I had no idea what adultery meant and thought \u201ccovet\u201d had something to do with cooking but wasn\u2019t sure.<\/p>\n I wanted to be a nun. That was all I dreamed of. To be with God and his angels and especially to be with the Mother of God forever seemed the essence of all life meant. My father was an exceptionally devout Catholic as was my mother and his sister was a nun so I knew he would be happy about my decision. When, after 8th<\/sup> grade, I asked my father if I could go to the convent, he went into a rage, telling me no, not under any condition. I was confused. How could he deny me something that good? It seems he had other plans for me. I fell into deep despair, running out to the wooded area called Rae Creek, a half mile from town. There I climbed my favorite oak tree and sat on its limbs sobbing my heart ache out to the Mother of God. For the next few years, until we moved to California, Rae Creek was my sanctuary.<\/p>\n By the time I was 35, braces had straightened my teeth and exercises and the right diet had changed my looks considerably; but I couldn\u2019t see it. \u00a0I was in a clothing store shopping one day and saw a woman on the other side of the store. She was so pretty. I felt desperately unhappy. I knew I was still homely and would never look like her. Why couldn\u2019t I? Why did she get to and not me? I seethed with resentment. I continued shopping, now more despondent than ever. As I was leaving the store a short time later I again spied the woman on the other side of the store. It was so unfair. I reached up to scratch my face; so did she. I touched my hair; so did she. I noticed she was wearing the same clothes I wore and walked over to her. I was looking in a mirror. I touched the mirror with my hands wondering how that could be.\u00a0 I left the store totally confused. I didn\u2019t look like that! For years I had wondered why men were always so attracted to me. How could someone as homely as I receive more than a dozen marriage proposals? Refusing to believe anything good about myself, I feared it was my addiction to sex that encouraged them.<\/p>\n How many sexually abused children feel like that and have had similar experiences. All of them. When someone strikes you the first message you get is you are no good. Why someone violates the sanctity of your body the shame covers you like a heavy coat, one you must wear the rest of your life. You already knew you were ugly. Now you know you are no good. The burden is a heavy one to carry. Year after year, the torment of knowing how ugly you are follows you like a shadow.<\/p>\n After I was married and had my first baby at the age of 19, my sister-in-law and a friend came over for a visit. My daughter was almost a year old. The friend stared at my daughter and said, \u201cShe is so beautiful. Whose baby is she?\u201d \u201cMine\u201d, I responded. She gave me a strange look, shook her head and said, \u201cShe can\u2019t possibly be your child.\u201d I never forgot the unkindness of words that only proved what I had known since I was 13.<\/p>\n People who were abused as a child, whether it be sexual, physical, mental or emotional, grow up wondering why they are ugly. They don\u2019t understand why they are no good. They only know these things are true and can never be changed.<\/p>\n When I was in recovery I spent a certain amount of time pondering this. I realized that if you are attractive you are praised for your looks. Even if the praise is only an admiring glance it causes your self-esteem to blossom. We validate that which we find to be the truth. If your looks are not validated, if in fact people show you by their actions and their words that you are, in fact, ugly or homely that is what you believe. A child is ego centered and all negativity dumped on them brings about the expected result. It must be true.<\/p>\n Just as I failed to understand how a mirror made me look good, I needed to discover for myself what positive qualities I had. I literally had to toss out all the negativity and remake myself with positive feedback. It wasn\u2019t until I completed recovery that I was able to look in the mirror and realize I wasn\u2019t homely. I wasn\u2019t ugly. And I also was not no-good. It was a tough thing to turn around. But going through recovery will bring about this transformation.<\/p>\n