A lot of survivors of sexual and physical abuse feel they need to confront someone about it.  Face down the perpetrator and tell him (usually him) – tell him what?  That what he did was wrong.  That it was hurtful and did substantial harm.

I imagine it could amazingly empowering to do that.  Although the response may be further denial and anger, which could be traumatic.  To hold one’s own against such responses would be a big deal.  And confrontation could provide a chance for remorse and repair of the relationship — I guess that would be everyone’s dream, that the perpetrator would have an opportunity to open and soften, to repent.  And the survivor might be able to let go in a new way, seeing and feeling the new responsiveness in the other.

I didn’t have that chance, since my father was dead before I remembered what he did.  But my mother was still alive.  When she received the diagnosis of colon cancer that we knew was a death-sentence, I had to decide whether to confront her tacit collusion or let it be.  I chose to let it be.  It felt like a combination of cowardice and wisdom.  The cowardice... of course I imagined she’d deny it all over again or minimize it:  “What are you talking about?  How could you accuse him of such a thing?  He loved you.” or “Oh, he was just being a man.” or “But it didn’t really do you any harm — see, you grew up fine.”

The wisdom part... my therapist asked me, “What would you hope to gain?”  In my dream, I said then, my mother would acknowledge the fact of the abuse.  She’d acknowledge the hurt of it.  She’d comfort me and apologize.  She’d act like a protective, warm mother.

How likely was that?  Knowing her, she might have been able to acknowledge the fact, but what would have followed would not have been comfort for me — it would have been her overwhelming guilt and shame.  She was too scared to be protective as I was growing up.  She never had been warm — too scared for that, too.  So it wasn’t in the cards that I’d receive what the wounded child inside me so keenly desired — the lost love and protection of a good mother.

... and as I say this, it’s not with bitterness.  She did her best, the best of a woman who was timid by nature and brought up to hardship and limitation.  She loved me the absolute best she could and manifested that love in gifts and praise.

So I did not confront my mother.  I still can’t tell you if that was the right decision, but it did make something clear to me:  Healing is not the same as confrontation.  The movement that needed to happen was inside me, not out there in the world.  I had to soften towards my self, acknowledge that the hurt would always be a part of me, find comfort and love inside my own psyche.  In a strange, paradoxical movement, my inner confrontation released me to growth and joy.