My name is Denise Bossarte, and I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. This book is my story of overcoming incest by my maternal grandfather.

In its pages, I share activities that aided my healing journey. I guide you to connect with healing practices. I help you work through tough questions and scenarios, such as deciding who to tell. And I help you understand what to expect on your journey to recovery.

I will first share my personal story of the sexual abuse I experienced at the hands of my grandfather. He was someone I should have been able to love and trust, but instead he used my love and trust against me. It is hard to write about what happened to me as a child and teenager. But I want you to know I understand what you went through and how you are suffering from the abuse still, long after it happened.

The remainder of the book is dedicated to detailing the activities of my healing journey. I share what I did and how it impacted my life and aided my healing. And I create a space for you to explore a healing journey for yourself and offer a list of selected resources you can review for additional help and information.

Please be aware the next section you are about to read contains a recounting of traumatic sexual abuse. You may prefer to skip to the next section on “How to Use This Book” if you have concerns about being triggered.

My Journey

I’m not sure how other people remember their childhoods, what details they can recall. But from the way people talk, they are connected to those past events and see them as part of themselves.

That’s not how it is for me.

As a child, I learned to forget, to block out the memories that were too painful or frightening to remember. I learned early to lock memories behind closed doors in my mind. But that wasn’t something that I was able to do selectively, so the good memories were trapped away with the bad.

To save myself, I set aside my childhood self and became a separate soul, one forced to quickly leave childhood behind. I pushed that little girl to the deep recesses of my mind, eventually forgetting she was even there. I forgot her, with her scabbed knees and frightened eyes. I only started to remember fragments in high school when my grandfather was in the hospital dying of prostate cancer. I never knew the whole story, the whole truth, but there was more than enough to remember him by.

It took me a long time to feel safe enough to remember things from my childhood because to remember the good meant the hurt and pain could also come out unexpectedly.

Can I say when every instance of abuse happened? Not really. I can only guess from the clues about how old I might have been.

My earliest memories of the abuse are from when I was very young; when adults still towered over me. I remember seeing a photo of me as a baby sleeping with my grandfather on the sofa, lying on his chest, that made me wonder if the abuse started even then. But the abuse itself remains stubbornly separate from the timeline of my daily “normal” life.

Because of this separateness of timelines, it is hard for me to know exactly when the abuse started. I know the abuse was happening during elementary school, and it finally ended when he died when I was a freshman in high school.

After the abuse, I remember hating my body and my lack of control as hormones raged during my teen years. Hating the changes that drew his eyes like flies to a corpse. Hating the shape that tempted him to dare touch what wasn’t offered. I abhorred the sensations that carried such baggage, such memories of control and pain. I hated my futile efforts to thrust the abuse away as it clung stubbornly to my soul, encased me in a constant reminder of his touch. Until I dared to dream of using my hands to kill myself, end it all, and set myself free.

I grew to hate him. Fuck him, the bastard, for being so selfish, for doing what he did. For being so smug, thinking he could get away with it, hide it, that no one would know or find out. I wanted him to suffer as I did, to be the instrument of his pain, all the while knowing this would make me just like him—a monster.

I wanted to hide from my memories of abuse and hide myself from the world. So I clothed myself in baggy sweatshirts and worn jeans, tearing down my self-esteem and building up self-loathing. All the while I hoped that Love would find me. I hoped to be seen through my clashing fear and yearning, for someone to push bravely past the walls I’d constructed, confident of my worthiness where I wasn’t.

But the world was full of strangers, people far from me. Wary, I watched them living. What was it that everyone else seemed to know but me? How did they waltz through life so sure of themselves, of the steps? I constantly looked around me, searching for understanding, for happiness, for acceptance from those who surrounded me. I didn’t feel any connection, just two left feet. I felt I was at the mercy and the judgment of people I despised for their enjoyment in a world where I was a stranger.

I was so angry! Angry at feeling out of control. Angry because I could not feel connected or loved. And I used my anger against myself. I created a rigid outer shell to contain the turmoil inside that raged and roiled and fought for release in tears and screams that were never released, remaining caged inside.

Eventually I feared happiness because I had learned repeatedly through my childhood of the inevitable pain that would follow, pain much greater in comparison. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to have the universe yank away any possibility of joy when I least expected it. To me, the universe was not dispassionate or uncaring about my happiness. But it was joyfully, gleefully waiting for the exact moment when I was calm and confident and unwatchful, when it would be the most painful, then it would snatch the rug out from under my feet and leave me torn and bleeding. Eventually, I got to a place where I’d rather be numb and untouched than suffer the pain again.

I grew obsessed with school and strived for perfection. I pushed myself with physical exertion to the point of pain, ate less or nothing. Drove fast at night over hilly roads with the radio blasting, played cat and mouse with death and hoped to lose.

I was constantly doing, running from the responsibilities. Responsibilities to be good, to be kind, to give understanding and acceptance to all aspects of myself, regardless of their origin or their ugly faces. I grew tired. Tired of running from myself, like a rat in a cage, circling restlessly, endlessly on the wheel. Yet I couldn’t slow down though the pace was killing me, killing my hope and my sanity, because the fear of failure, of failing myself, was too great.

A friend told me I would never completely “get over it” or “move on from it” until I could accept and forgive. But how could I forgive all the people who should have known and done something? How could I forgive him?

So instead, I decided to work on forgiving myself. To welcome back my wounded little girl self into my life and find ways that she and I could heal together.

Years later, I read a story of a man who could travel through time. He met a girl and became her guardian, protecting her from the harm he knew would find her. But he didn’t protect her from all the pain because he knew it was the pain that made her strong and made her who and what she was.

I realized that was what the universe had given me: a chance to learn, to overcome. Looking back, in hindsight, I know I am the person I am, here and now, because of all that happened.

How to Use this Book

This book is for anyone who has survived sexual abuse and for partners of survivors. Although my personal experiences of sexual abuse may not mirror yours, I believe you will connect with the emotional, psychological, mental, and spiritual anguish I experienced and describe in this book.

I am not a mental health professional trying to sell you on a program of “Find Your Freedom in 21 Days” or “6 Steps to Reclaiming Your Life.” I am a survivor with a PhD in developmental neuroscience, a contemplative arts teacher, trained meditation facilitator, and a published author with a novel based on my abuse experience.[1] My goal in writing this book is to share the practices I developed and the experiences I engaged in to help me overcome my sexual abuse and to thrive in a life I love.

This book is not a tell-all of my abuse, although writing it has served as a catharsis for me in my journey of healing that I began in college and continues today. With this goal in mind, I will share some information about my sexual abuse, but the bulk of this book will be about what happened afterward—the things I did to move on with my life and find joy and freedom.

I mean for this book to be an inspiration and a resource for your journey of healing. In each chapter, I will share my thoughts and experiences as they relate to the chapter topic. I include questions at the end of each chapter to encourage you to explore what you learned from my experiences and to plan how you can incorporate the lessons into your own journey of healing. I recommend getting a notebook or journal to write down your answers to the chapter questions. When I started my healing journey, I felt overwhelmed and lost not knowing where to go and what to do to get help. I wished at the time there were instructions to help me find what I needed—step-by-step instructions in fact. In each chapter’s working space, I provide detailed information in the form of questions and planning spaces which are meant for you to use as you need. There is no requirement for you to complete all the information in the working spaces. These areas are guides to help you find what you need at your own pace. You can complete the workspaces immediately after reading the chapter, or return and work through them at your own pace as they serve you.

If you are just starting a healing journey, then I recommend reading the book from cover to cover in the order it is presented. If you have already started on your healing journey, then you may want to skip the chapters on Individual Therapy, Group Therapy, and Medication and jump to the chapter on Self-Help books.

Life doesn’t come with guarantees. And getting back your sense of joy, freedom, and self is hard work—fucking hard work!

But I know that with the help of this book, you can overcome your abuse, become a Thriver, and live a life you love.

[1] My novel, GLAMOROUS, is available from online book sellers.