So this happened recently. A young girl was victimized by a perverted voyeur in a dressing room. Her protective mother then chased him down, made sure he was detained as someone called the cops, and then turned her own camera on the man she had just caught trying to video tape her daughter in a Rue 21 dressing room.
In the video the mom’s shaky voice is pitched high and filled with justified anger. As he sat on the ground awaiting arrest, her words to him are scattered and traumatized but all the more powerful as a result. One of the things she said to the man was, “You’re gonna leave a scar on my daughter permanently!” She lamented (paraphrasing and going by memory) that they were birthday shopping for clothing as her daughter’s twelfth birthday was in two days…and now this. “Now this, is this what she deserves for her twelfth birthday, a pervert trying to grab her legs and film her in a dressing room?!”
The video I linked is not the entire video this mother took. I watched the full length video earlier today. In that video the mom eventually scanned the camera back onto her own face as she asked someone where her cigarettes were, “I really need one.” She is then shown lighting up and smoking.
I was a little surprised as the image in my head (of a protective mother chasing down a pervert) didn’t match this woman’s actual appearance. I was not expecting to see someone with a neck tattoo lighting up a cigarette.
You know how sometimes the ‘radio voice’ doesn’t match the appearance you had imagined in your head?
I know from personal experience that sexual abusers rarely look like the deviant creatures they are inside. Yet I still think I might be able to ‘spot one’ easily enough. It makes me feel safer, more in control. But I never pondered, until today, the fact that I have a clear notion in my head of what a ‘good’ or protective ‘mom’ looks like. I am embarrassed to admit I harbor such deep presumptions.
And I feel like this is a pivotal moment in my own healing journey. God has done this before. He has used some viral video or story, even popular movies and TV shows, to spur me into deeper layers of onion peeling. I recognized He was trying to show me something key today.
All my life I have always been drawn to stories of sexual abuse. For a long time I would think to myself how tragic they were and how glad I am that such things had never happened to me. The denial of my own story was that strong.
When the PTSD flared, I couldn’t handle seeing those stories. I had to avoid them. Particularly stories like this one wherein mothers had openly defended their daughters. Such accounts triggered a pile of emotions too powerful for me to handle.
Today I was able to view this video and reflect upon it without a rise in any stress symptoms. PRAISE GOD. That’s progress!
My own mother looked the part (that I had created in my head) of a protective mother. She dressed carefully in public and could put on a smile, but it rarely extended to her eyes. She was a career woman and volunteer children’s minister director for thirty plus years at her church. She had a closet full of kitten heel pumps and drawers full of nylons to match her modest church dresses.
She did smoke; though. She hid that fact in bathroom stalls while traveling with other people, (to avoid filling the vehicle with smoke). But she smoked openly in front of me either at home or when we were alone in the car. Something which annoyed me to no end as I hated the smoke and resulting plugged nose. I also saw the tattered clothes and constant scowl mom wore freely around the house. When company came; she changed.
There were two moms. I think the private Mom was a far more intimate glimpse into who she really was than the public one. Privately, mom was checked out. Assuming a posture and attitude which I call ‘playing dead’.
In public Mom tried to teach me to play the same games she did. At an appointment, a doctor turned to Mom and said what a pretty daughter she had. I felt yucky inside. But before my next appointment, Mom advised me to wink and smile extra big at him. Still quite young and not knowing any better, I did just that. On the ride home from the clinic she didn’t light up a cigarette (that was rare) and she kept repeating what the doctor had said to her about me. “Oh, those eyes, that smile, and did you know she actually winked at me today. My heart melted. Such a pretty girl you have!” Mom smiled the rest of the day. A real one that reached her eyes.
I was so confused. Mom was happy, but I felt so weird inside. It had scared me to no end to see that doctor react to my wink and smile as he had. I regretted doing it as soon as it had happened. Thankfully, that was the last appointment I had with him. He moved away and a female doctor replaced him.
When I was nearly twelve, I witnessed a visiting uncle (in his thirties at the time) toss my cousin onto the guest bed and then forcibly remove her clothing. I started screaming, telling him to stop and beating on his back with my fists. I don’t know what he would have done to her had I not walked in. I ran to tell mom what had just happened. My voice was scattered and traumatized, my chest was heaving from trying to catch my breath. I told her that her brother had just taken off all my cousin’s clothes. Mom was standing at the sink, peeling potatoes. She turned to look at me, the familiar dead look in her half-lidded eyes. Her lips scowled. “I told you to just ignore him when he starts teasing you girls.” She turned back to the pile of potatoes.
I believe that in that moment God cried out in horror at my uncle, using similar words that the mother in the linked video did, “You are going to leave a scar on my daughter permanently!”
My uncle had a choice. And Mom had a choice. She could have chosen outrage. She could have taken God’s side. She could have shown the same courtesy she did with strangers and not plugged her own daughter’s nose with the stink of her bad habit. By choosing to ‘play dead’–Mom joined the perpetrators of abuse. She also left a permanent scar on her own daughter.
The scar is fading a bit now. But I still can’t stand being around cigarette smoke.