What I've been upto
I published “The Lucky One” 6 months ago now and I have been incredibly touched by how many people have taken the time to read it and even more moved by the number of people who have told me my story resonated with them. It really does mean a lot to me to have so much support in telling my story. Quite a few people have asked me to keep writing on here, and I have planned to do so, but I have needed a bit of a break from any serious writing after exhausting myself writing over 8000 words on the trauma of being sexually abused. I hope to publish more in depth and profound pieces in the near future, but for now you will have to tolerate my ramblings on what’s happened since my first publication.
Just before I moved to London in December 2021, my mother gifted me a journal so that I would spend some time writing about my adventures. The story of me moving 16,000kms in the hopes of winning back my ex-girlfriend would make a great book according to mum. I have always loved writing and I have written a lot about my experiences here in London, including the story my mother wished for me to write despite its unhappy ending. I doubt my mother could have predicted the first piece that I would end up sharing publicly.
When I decided I was going to publish my story back at the end of October 2022, I didn’t expect the form it would end up taking and certainly not the length. It took a lot of prayer and discernment to reach the point that I was comfortable to even tell my immediate family and closest friends in minute detail what happened to me after 12 years, let alone the rest of the world. As I kept on writing it became clear how much information I was actually going to have to share for people to understand how significant the impact of being sexually abused had been on my life. As someone who had been trying to live as a hermit-like recluse for years this was quite frightening. It wasn’t until late February that I actually told someone what I had been working on and began to share paragraphs to see what reaction I might expect when I published the full thing.
My friend, who I had briefly recounted the events to years earlier and acting as an editor of sorts, told me that certain behaviour from my past was beginning to make a lot more sense. Sleeping on the lounge being a big one. He told me it was difficult to read, but the level of detail was necessary. The month of February I was staying awake till 4am every night and spending at least 10 hours a day drafting, writing, and editing. I would walk around Hyde Park late at night recording myself reading it aloud over and over again, often in tears. In short, it was a long and immensely painful process that I think is reflected in the finished product. I set myself the deadline of March 1st, my birthday, to finish my final edit.
When it came time to publish, I was understandably a bit scared. I’d kept this secret from my mum, siblings, closest friends, and the world for over a decade. I had written something that I knew would be extremely confronting to read. I had let dad and my friend read my blog the day before I published for some final thoughts. It was clear that my story was going to be distressing, for my family in particular, to read. The night of March 2nd, 7am Australian time, I told my friends and family I had something I needed them to read, confirmed I hadn’t been hacked, turned off my phone, and headed to the Lenten meeting of the young adults group of the London Oratory. Luckily, the meeting that week was a spiritual reflection and adoration, meaning I could hide in the corner and bawl my eyes out before the Lord imagining how my mother must have been feeling reading what happened to her son 12 years earlier. As is often said: waiting is the hardest part.
At the end of Adoration I hesitantly turned my phone back on and there were the first messages from those who had finished reading. The initial messages of support from some of those closest to me and a line from a friend made me feel immediately vindicated in writing the entire piece: “I feel like there’s a part of you I understand so much better now.” I’d finally discuss what I’d been going through with my closest friends over the phone and bit by bit the weight was lifting off my shoulders. Contrastingly, it would take 5 agonising hours before I heard from my mother or siblings. I knew they had read it, but had no idea how they would react. The silence was difficult, and when I finally did hear from them, it made sense; they didn’t know how to react or what words to use. Few do. By the time I woke up the next morning my mum had read my story 5 times.
I spoke to my mother on the phone and we had a very fruitful but difficult conversation. She felt a lot of misplaced guilt and pity. She said something that I remember quite vividly, “if I was still there, would I have noticed(that I had been through something horrific)?” The truth is I don’t have an answer to that question. The pain I went through from being abused and my parent’s separation turned me into a cold, deceitful person who kept everything about my life private. From my perspective such ‘what ifs’ don’t help anyone, but I understand that it’s not just I who has to heal from these wounds.
The weeks after were exhausting. I spent more and more time in Adoration, the screams towards God of “why me?” from years earlier had turned into whimpers of “Help. How can I serve You?” The London Oratory’s Lenten Quarant’ore spectacular musical finale was spent weeping in a dark corner uncontrollably. I had crossed a gigantic hurdle in sharing my story, but I wasn’t prepared for the reaction and amount of sympathy I would receive. I have heard story after story from people who have been abused and suffered silently like me for so long in the months since I published. It’s a tremendous blessing to be so trusted and if my story helps even one person then I can’t imagine feeling more proud of anything in my life. It is, however, a heavy burden that I am still learning to carry. However, please do keep sharing your stories with me, it gives me strength.
Eventually, my story came to the attention of the Archdiocese safeguarding team. They wanted permission to use my written account in their training sessions for priests on safeguarding matters. Apparently my blog would help deepen Clergy understanding of the impact and response to abuse. I was brought to tears reading that email. I never could have imagined when I was writing in those early hours of the morning that my story could have such an impact. That is all I ever wanted: understanding. After I gave my permission I was referred to a national safeguarding body here in the UK who I have begun part time work with as a consultant of sorts. I haven’t really gotten into much of the work yet, but it feels vocational. It feels like what God wants me to be doing. How that will work when I move back to Australia I’m unsure but I would like to explore it further. For now, the idea that I’m helping victims of abuse is to me the most meaningful work imaginable.
I have read “The Lucky One” over 200 times, at least that’s what Substack tells me. In truth it would be much more. It’s not perfect, but I’m so proud of what I ended up publishing. I’ve edited bits here and there and written a lot more about how things like the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse and the imprisonment of Cardinal Pell on historic sexual abuse claims made me feel. Those sections are currently unpublished, and likely will stay that way for the foreseeable future. The point is though, that my story isn’t over. It never will be but I’m comfortable talking about it now.
The past 6 months have been a bit of a blur. I have moved house 4 times, worked 3 different jobs, and made being a victim of sexual abuse a part of my public life. I’ve spent a lot of time alone here in London, even more so these last few months, but I’ve not been lonely. I have been on what I would call something of a spiritual retreat. Almost absent from the world and deep in contemplation, I’ve walked around the parks reflecting on my life, stopping to talk to the ducks and squirrels along the way. This ‘retreat’ is why I have stayed in London so long. The variety of churches, frequency of the sacraments, and some new cleric friends have let me focus wholly on my spiritual life for the first time. There are many flaws that I have come to accept about myself during this time, but deep down it’s very much a triumphant feeling that finally ending my silence has unleashed the shackles and softened my heart after 12 long years. Whilst those events from that fateful trip might still occasionally torment my mind, I no longer feel any hindrance to loving those whom I should be freest to love, and that’s just marvellous.
Where to next?
This Summer just past, I have been working as a tour guide here in London, which has been an incredibly fun and silly job. I love talking about the history of the city and luckily my guests think it’s hilarious that a ‘convict’ gives tours of London. It has also given me lots of inspiration to write, as it has become clear there is a complete absence of understanding history and context at a societal level - do they even have libraries in American high schools anymore? It is saddening to have to leave that job behind when I come home as it has been very relaxing work in what has been a chaotic few months.
When I tell anecdotes, I generally provide far too much context for what should be a 10 second story. My ex girlfriend would always laugh when I would ramble on and on about peculiar figures that were completely irrelevant to what I was originally talking about. Perhaps because I am generally very quiet, when I find something I want to talk about I end up on a long winded ramble. It’s why I love being a tour guide so much; people pay me for that pleasure! Hence the name of the blog. I can’t promise that this will be the best blog in the world but I can promise that I will at some point passionately ramble incoherently about something no one other than me cares about. I’m looking forward to sharing more of my ramblings with you all soon.
God bless you and thank you for reading.