I have often heard it said that child sex abuse kills a person’s soul. I have uttered those words myself. I know now that it does not actually kill the soul, but it definitely damages it and breaks the heart as well.
Recovery from the impact of child abuse for me has included reclaiming my heart and soul. I built walls to protect myself, and kept the secret hidden and stayed broken for four decades, so it is a long road to wholeness. For me going back in time and sifting through the pain and hurt to find the lost child has been the hardest part of the journey. And yet without him, I can never be me. It was so long ago. What was he like before; before the touch; before the lines were all blurred; when there was innocence and playfulness; when there was hope and joy.
As I have sought to rediscover my child self and open myself to the world again I have found some aids. Music, poetry, being in nature and yes, even faith have become part of the support on my path.
I cannot remember who gave me this poem, but it expresses that recovery process so well I want to share it with you. It took a long time to begin to access these feelings, but when I do it fills me up like nothing else. May we all find something that revives the life within.
Last Night
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt-marvelous error!-
That a spring was breaking
Out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
O water, are you coming to me,
Water of a new life
That I have never drunk?
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt-marvelous error!-
That I had a beehive
Here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
Were making white combs
And sweet honey
From my old failures.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt-marvelous error!-
That a fiery sun was giving
Light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
Warmth as from a hearth,
And sun because it gave light
And brought tears to my eyes.
Last night, as I slept,
I dreamt-marvelous error!-
That it was God I had
Here in my heart.
By Antonio Machado (translation Robert Bly)
May it be so.
Randy Ellison



The poem is lovely. But after 5 decades, I’ve not been able to “return” to or find a former self. I can’t remember a time without the abuse. I do know I’ve said, “they killed her”. They killed my innocent self, and I can never, ever be her again. She couldn’t exist and survive at the same time, so she ceased to exist.
I’ve come to terms with an awful lot of past facts and events, I don’t know if I want to ressurect her.
I keep her locked away in a safe place and she is happy there.