By Debbie Zwanikken
~A joy to behold~
Ayomide is African and means “my joy has arrived” – this is how her mother who adopted her when she was three told me she felt about the child when she came into her care. Fast forward 11 years, and Ayomide, though still very much her mother’s joy, has come with a lot of challenges and hiccups and giving us an extraordinary chance to connect with our humanity. Ayomide is a child of incest. Her biological mother and father/grandfather are no longer in the picture. This story is not about incest, or about crimes committed or how justice was panned out; this story is about looking to create a system that helps people to congregate and witness their life with other individuals that have gone through similar situations.
Prayer and then what?
This story is about the lack of group support to build stronger understanding, healing and community. It is a vital part of stepping up the standards for a wholesome community. Nothing is more powerful than feeling supported, understood and meeting others who have survived similar traumas or burdens; the healthy and encouraging acceptance of self in spite of the bad things that happened is one that we all need to learn to embrace; it makes people knowledgeable and courageous. You take it along and do the hard work of healing, with a qualified professional, and with a society of people that has had similar experiences.
When I use the word “congregate” or “assemble”, it may bring to mind images of the church; I am talking about church or religion. Religion has a separatist quality about it that makes some uncomfortable, and this is about serving all people. Besides, casting an evil tint on these intricate and turbulent experiences like abuse or alcoholism puts a mystifying aura about it, like something we need to run from or send “powers that be” to deal with the situation. Prayer is powerful, but the labour is still ours. Ayomide’s mom prayed no more harm would come to her daughter. She tried to move mountains to keep her safe, thinking she would have time to arm Ayomide when she got older.
Gee, so sorry for you
We will all have a moment of pain and suffering. We will sit secrets and hope that others never find out how vulnerable we are; how human we are. Some of us will feign quick recovery. Others will take long to heal, may even end up regurgitating the experience. In the end, the hard work of dealing with our traumas takes effort; acknowledging, understanding and creating support groups that heal, The pathological denial of looking at painful situations with compassion and objectivity has bludgeoned opportunities for this country to grow its people up respectfully, with or without religion.
Support, anyone?
Ayomide and others like her and both of her mothers have fallen through a gap. The missed opportunity to counsel preventatively happens way too often, but what’s worse is our lack of sharing with others. Many stay in their homes recreating the wheels of shame and going nowhere fast. They are left to God and their own devices. The work of bringing unity by acknowledging each and everyone’s right to be respected and rehabilitated back into society belongs to all; to support and understand that to move forward, we need to admit there is much to learn about human existence. The secret to being human is in acknowledging the human experience and its long- and short-term effects on the individuals, their relationships and the experiences they have throughout their lifetime and ultimately on the community and the world as a whole.
I would like to see and hear groups comprising empathic, knowledgeable leaders talking about topics that have oppressed and cowered people into denial of their reality (economic crisis in homes, support for single mothers, labour abuse, jobs for the mentally challenged, etc.).
Ayomide’s mother was raped by her father; this does not define who Ayomide is, but because Ayomide’s adoptive mother was not aware of the full human experience of mother and child, she could not know how to stop the cycle of sexual attacks upon her daughter. That the biological mom who was raped would have been angry throughout her pregnancy and confused is part of it. This pregnant child could have become depressed and withdrawn throughout her pregnancy, might have even been repeatedly raped. We can only wonder at the effects on unborn Ayomide.
Ayomide tells me that she remembers being angry all the time as a child; she tells me that other children bullied her at every school where she moved. Child Services did the best they could, but what was needed was the support of having people understand and cater to a client with a particular traumatic experience with some individuals in the group who have lived through the experience; whether sexual abuse or rape or a robbery where someone got killed. Ayomide and her adoptive mom could have avoided the other tragedy of molestation by the babysitter’s boyfriend, which came up a couple of years later.
Proper support would have allowed Ayomide to realize her early attraction to boys stemmed from her body’s early introduction by another into sexual stimulation. Her questions about sex and relationships could have helped her understand her body’s desires and not have to act on the impulsive craving her body demanded if she was educated in puberty and the changing of the body. Ayomide’s dirty blond hair and light green eyes do not give her any special privileges. And although her talent to dance gives her esteem, she still needs group support.
The best benefits of support systems for individuals are that they let people know that they aren’t the only ones. The best benefits of support systems for the rest of the society are knowing that our fellow human will be cared for, educated and become a supporter to aid goodness in our world.
