Marilyn's diary of the first year after disclosing.
A year after her story became public, the Rocky Mountain News asked her if she had kept a diary. This is what was printed
WHO’S WHO IN HER DIARY
In her journal, Marilyn Atler refers informally to the people and places closest to her. Here Is a short list.
Larry – Larry Atler, her husband of 28 years. Jennifer—The Alter’s 20-year-old daughter.
DD – D.D. Harvey, the youth minister who triggered Atler’s painful memories of incest when she was 24 and started her on the road to recovery. He now heads the Survivors United Network. a peer supportgroup network funded by the Kempe Foundation.
Gwen – Gwen Van Derbur Mitchell, Atler’s eldest sister.
Roseanne – Comedian Roseanne Arnold.
Tom – Arnold’s husband.
Ann – Ann McAdams, director of community relations and hospital affairs at the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center.
Montvlew – Montview Presbyterian Church, where Atler and Harvey met when she was 15, and now the place where public survivor meetings are held—including the one at which Roseanne Barr Arnold disclosed that she, too, was an incest survivor.
Marilyn Van Derbur Atler’s diary
By Marilyn Van Derbur Atler
Special to the Rocky Mountain News
© 1992 Marilyn Van Derbur
May 8
Tonight, for the first time, I said the word I have never been able to say. The ugliest six-letter word in the English language.
I said “incest.”
A reporter was there. My worst nightmare has come true. People are going to know.
May 9
Front page. And many inside pages.
It was early, but I called Mother. She hadn’t seen the paper yet, but her doorbell rang at 7 a.m. and a man in his late 50s, whom she had known for decades, was there.
“Bootsie,” he said, “bless you. I was sexually violated as a boy. I’ve never told anyone. Bless you and Marilyn.”
He gave her a long hug and left. That’s how she learned.
Ann called and said I would need to have a press conference today.
“Are you out of your mind?” I said.
She said reporters will get the story. They will get it from you, or they will start knocking on your sisters’ doors and your mother’s door.
I said,’ “What time is the press conference?”
May 10
Ann called again: “The newspapers are calling your sisters.” My first call was to Gwen who lives in San Francisco.
“If you want to tell your story to the press, please don’t do it in Denver,” I said. “I am pleading with you. We are never going to get off the front pages.”
“I must do what I think is right,” she said.
May 11
Gwen’s story is on the front page. I said to Larry and Jennifer, “Let’s get away from all of this. Let’s go to the track and jog.”
The woman with the two dogs· was there again. She stopped me to say how pleased she was that Gwen had come forward with her story.
“WHY?” I asked.
She said it was because yesterday, on one of our most popular radio talk shows, a couple of people called in and said, “Why should we believe her?”
“Now that your sister has come forward, they will have to believe you.”
I was too stunned to speak.
I just stared at her, and then the words came—words that would become the reason for my turning into the cameras instead of running away from the cameras:
“If people aren’t going to believe 53-year-old me, then who, dear God, is going to believe a child?”
May 13
This morning I was sitting at our breakfast room table when a Mercedes drove up, and a beautifully dressed woman got out. She walked quickly to the front door and put a letter in the mailbox.
I didn’t know her by face, but I certainly knew her name – a very high-profile, successful woman.
In her letter, she poured out a lifetime of the pain of incest. I will NEVER forget her last sentence:
“If you had the courage to SPEAK your name, then, today, I will at least have the courage to SIGN my name!”
May 17
The Kempe’s Center for Abused Children called today. They said the phones are ringing off the hook. Hundreds of survivors are calling. I immediately called my former youth minister DD Harvey and said, “Maybe we should have a survivor meeting.”
“I’ll get to work on it,” DD said. He called back and said the meeting will be at Montview Church.
Montview Church. Where I had met a youth minister, DD Harvey 37 years ago. I never went to church to pray to Our Father. I now know it’s because I didn’t want another father.
May 20
A television producer from Hard Copy arrived today from Los Angeles. It’s a half-hour national show. Our interview—Larry, Jennifer and me—will be the entire show.
The soundperson was the wife of the cameraperson. In looking back on it, I can see how they took their time packing up their equipment until the producer had left. The soundwoman was trembling. Her breathing was difficult. It looked as if she was having a panic attack. I asked if I could get her water. She shook her head no.
The next day, the cameraman called. His wife didn’t know before the interview what the subject matter was. As you began speaking, he said, her memories began coming up—memories of her uncle sexually assaulting her as a child.
“She couldn’t think. She couldn’t concentrate. She is writing you a letter.”
May 21
A question a reporter asked has given me something to talk about.
He said, “It’s been almost two weeks since we first reported your story. So much has happened since then, but I want to know, has anything changed inside you?”
I thought for a minute and then I knew. Something had happened that would change my life forever. I realized I had talked about incest all day and I had felt no shame.
I felt like Julie Andrews singing The Sound of Music while running across the meadow. Speaking the truth and finding out that people did not look at me with disgust and disdain had finally set me free.
But it would take time for me to truly believe this.
May 23
Larry, Jennifer and I arrived at the church at 6:45. I was stunned. By 7, there was standing room only. Over 1,000 people.
I felt confident in my message—healing is possible if you do your work. I closed by saying we stay shamed by acting ashamed.
The program ended about 8:30. I couldn’t believe what happened then. The survivors lined up in long, single lines to speak to me. For 2½ hours, I talked one-on-one to survivors struggled to say even their names.
Some couldn’t.
May 24
I call DD. We have to organize a healing center. We have triggered the pain in thousands of survivors’ lives. They need a place where they can begin their healing process.
DD said, “I’m on it.”
May 25
I have lost 10 pounds in two weeks.
May 29
Flew to Washington to appear on Larry King Live. A nice young man working his way through school came to the hotel to pick me up.
“What’s the topic tonight?” he asked.
“It’s about adults who were sexually violated as children.”
“You a psychologist?” I said no. I knew he was waiting for me to say why I was on. The silence was agonizing.
I took a deep breath and said, “I’m an incest survivor.”
“Really?” he said. “My girlfriend and I just broke up about that. She is, too. It’s just too hard.”
Will I ever be anywhere where someone doesn’t say, “Me, too”?
June 1
I was the commencement speaker for East High School tonight. I was asked long before my story of incest was on the front page. It would be my first public appearance since my story broke.
I am told that the Superintendent said, “Marilyn should not have talked about this.” She knew what a part of me still knew—I was unacceptable.
When I was introduced, before I could even reach the podium, 2,000 people stood to give me a tumultuous, standing ovation.
She was finding out what I was finding out. Maybe I WAS acceptable, after all.
June 3
A reporter asked me today, “How do you feel about your father now?” He wanted a simple sentence answer. Most people want me to say, “I hate and loathe and despise my evil father.”
Among the many mixed feelings I had about my father, I loved him. All I ever wanted from him was his daytime love. I never got it. He just used me. That truth was overwhelmingly devastating.
June 4
(After an article appeared in PEOPLE magazine)
Kempe called. A woman had to speak with me. I called her.
She said, “I confronted my father some years ago. We hadn’t spoken after that. Today he saw your picture on the cover of People, read the article, picked up the phone and said “Let’s talk!”
It brought up my painful memories of that Sunday morning 7 years earlier. Mother called. She said I hadn’t been by to see them in over a week. Was something wrong?
My life had begun to shut down during the summer. I was sobbing uncontrollably. My body would go into paralysis for hours. Panic attacks and acute anxiety were overwhelming me.
I decided to let my father know. He was listening on the other phon—he always did that.
I said to mother, “I’m not doing well. I’m seeing a psychiatrist.”
I knew my father knew what that meant: I was speaking the words. Colorado’s Miss America and one of Denver’s most prominent businessmen—once the words were spoken, even in the confidence of therapy, exposure was possible.
Mother called back in a few hours
“It’s your father. I’ve called 911. He’s had a heart attack.”
He had a choice: to reach out to me or to die for fear of exposure.
He died.
I didn’t want him to die. I wanted him to pick up the phone and say, “Let’s talk.”
June 6
Dashed into Alfalfa’s to buy some pasta for Jennifer. Took my ticket at the deli counter and stood waiting my turn. A woman next to me turned and said quietly, “I heard you speak at Montview.”
We both knew exactly what she was saying. I said, “How are you doing?”
“I’ve started.” She said, “I’ve started.” She was about 35, beautifully dressed, soft, lovely features.
At that moment, my number was called. I looked away and when I turned to continue to speak to her, she was gone. Vanished.
My order was filled. I grabbed a cinnamon-raisin bagel and turned to leave the store. She was waiting for me. She had purchased a bouquet of flowers. She handed them to me. Tears began streaming down her face.
She said only, “Thank you” and left.
Roseanne and Tom have been trying to reach me. They want to be involved.
June 7
A young woman called me from San Francisco. She had seen the cover of People and was flying to Denver to speak to me.
I set aside the next morning to talk with her. Her mother had violated her sexually for years as a child. Her shame was overwhelming. I said, “Let’s get some air.” We began slowly walking through our neighborhood.
A Jaguar passed us. The car suddenly stopped and backed up. The woman was dressed up and flashy in the best sense of the word. She put the passenger side window down and said, “Hey, Marilyn, I’m an incest survivor too. She gave me a HUGE smile and drove off.
“Do you know her?” the young woman asked.
“Never seen her before,” I said.
She began to speak more freely.
The fact that this woman could come forward so freely was very powerful. We stay ashamed by acting ashamed.
June 12
Three more letters from movie producers today. I’m not sure yet how I can try to make a difference but I know a movie of the week isn’t the way.
June 14
Our healing center is opening. SUN. (Survivor United Network). Therapists are offering their time. Free. We can accommodate 500 survivors a week.
June 25
Received a letter today from a 73-year old woman who read my story in her local Santa Barbara, California, newspaper.
“I picked up the phone,” she wrote, “and called my best friend. It was the first time I had ever told anyone. I have sobbed all day. Tonight I can never remember feeling so emotionally exhausted or … so peaceful.”
How long do we hold in our secrets? Too long.
I received well over 200 letters this week. That makes about 1,000 so far.
June 28
One of the first letters I received in May was from the Miss America Pageant. “We are sure you examined, carefully, your motivations before you went public with this.” Judgment.
Now, almost two months later, they called. Would I celebrity judge? They had obviously felt the pulse of America.
I said, “I yes…if you will introduce me with these exact words …”
They said, “Anything you want.”
As a celebrity judge, I will be introduced before 50 million Americans as a former Miss America and incest survivor!
July 6
She called today. I had known for a long time that my father traumatized her also. A good friend from school. The letters I receive reconfirm what I already knew—an adult who violates one child almost always violates many children.
She just wanted to talk.
July 12
Forty-two letters today. Not every person identified their violator, but 28 said it was an older brother. We must teach our sons never to violate a younger sister or neighbor. We all know our sons are fine young men—fine young boys (and girls) violate younger children. By the millions!
Aug. 7
(In California)
We drove up to Roseanne and Tom’s home. Tom had the door open and came out to greet us. I smiled the second I saw Roseanne. She is impish and joyful. I get the feeling she is always pinching herself saying, “Is this really true?”
Roseanne began to discuss openly her painful childhood—a childhood of violations and no one to protect her.
Aug. 12
Kempe called today. What is going on in California? Calls are flooding the 800 lines.
I have no idea.
They call back—they are replaying your appearance on the Sally Jessy Show in Southern California. Hundreds of calls every hour.
Sept. 3
Roseanne called. She wants to break her silence in Denver. I ask her to trust me to make the arrangements. We agree that no one will know who the speaker is until hours before.
Sept. 10
Larry and I spent all day with Sandy – the producer of the Maria Shriver Show. l knew it was critically important that she understand why survivors go through such overwhelming physical and emotional pain as adults when they have to relive the childhood traumas.
“Sandy,” I said, “I’m going to tell you one vivid experience because I so want you to understand.”
“My daughter. Jennifer, mirrored me when I was her age. When she turned 5—the age I was when it began, my memories and feelings began to overwhelm me.
When Jennifer was starting puberty, my life began to shut down. When she was 13, we took her and five of her friends, to Laguna Beach. One day I awoke with excruciating pain. I couldn’t sit. I winced even when standing. I felt as if I had an ax embedded in my anus. I cried out. I didn’t know where to put the pain. No one could see the pain.”
I told her one other vivid experience. When she left, Larry said so gently, “You never told me that.”
I sat quietly. Inside, I was in awe. I realized he had never ASKED me that! He never asked me anything. He let me tell him as I was able—over a period of almost 30 years—like the peeling of an onion. He is such a gifted healer.
Sept. 14
(Atlantic City)
What a night. What an incredibly significant night. What could be more symbolic than being a “celebrity judge” at the Miss America Pageant and being introduced as an incest survivor? Hollywood couldn’t have written a better script. I had confirmed our agreement in writing. I would be a judge IF and ONLY IF, I would be introduced before 50 million people on television as an incest survivor.
During rehearsal, the host read an introduction that said nothing—NOTHING—about being an incest survivor.
I stood firm. The script finally was rewritten with the words we had agreed on.
The pageant officials had asked if I would like someone from Clairol (a sponsor) to comb my hair in my suite before the show. I naturally said “yes.” They sent their “best”! I was just making idle chatter, talking about the script changes.
She said, “What’s that about?”
“I’m an incest survivor. I want that word to be more speakable. I want it said tonight.”
She burst into sobs – not tears – sobs. Sobs so wrenching, my mother came in from the other room to see what was wrong. A survivor. Another survivor. In so much pain, she had to stop completely and cry before she could continue.
Sept. 15
(Sunday)
I am me, and I am acceptable!
I am EMPOWERED. Free. Finally, free.
When I arrived home, I found a letter at my front door. A survivor had driven 30 miles to write this, “As you were introduced as a former Miss America, incest survivor, a huge chunk of shame slid away from all of us.”
Sept. 19
Received a letter from a boy today. In prison. For murdering his parents. I know before I read another word—he was sexually violated by his parents. We need to rewrite one of the 10 Commandments:
“Honor your CHILDREN and they, in turn. will honor you.”
Sept. 20
Roseanne and Tom will be here tomorrow. I couldn’t believe the phone call I got last night. All of the TV stations know! The speaker is ROSEANNE! They’re going to cover it with all cameras ready.
I started calling. I talk with John at Channel 7. I tell him why we cannot, cannot, cannot have any cameras at all. Roseanne has agreed that reporters could be there, but NO cameras. I have promised her a “safe place.”
John said, “I give you my word—if every other station gives their word.”
And so the day went – every station manager and news director. I kept saying the same thing: “All I am asking for is your word.” The problem is if cameras arrive and it’s a media zoo, many survivors will never trust us again, that we are a safe place with no cameras.
Maybe I’m the only one who believes we can pull this off. But I do believe that! I have a feeling of peace tonight. I think it is going to be a very healing evening for everyone.
Sept. 21
Roseanne was incredible. So was Tom. Just watching him watch her was powerful. She was warm and powerful, strong and vulnerable, and vivid. If reporters are going to say they didn’t believe her story, they weren’t there!
The TV executives did exactly as they promised. Not one camera was there.
This thought just kept going through my mind—a handshake over the phone is still a bond in Denver, Colorado!!
Her story was on the front pages of our Denver papers with “stock footage” photographs.
At the reception for Roseanne, the high-profile businesswoman who had put the letter in my mailbox last May was there. She walked up to me and put her arms around me.
I could tell she was not comfortable doing that, and I realized she did it because she wanted to say something to me very private. She said, “You are my ticket out of here.”
Most people might not understand those words. I did.
Sept. 27
I called Survivors United Network. “We need bumper stickers that say in huge letters BELIEVE THE CHILDREN.” I suggested 1,000. They suggested 10,000.
Sept. 29
My father’s birthday. He would have been 83.
Oct. 5
Our top newspaper columnist, Gene Amole, has written a column entitled: “Abuse Allegations: Truth or revenge?”
His opening paragraph: “Assassination.” His last sentence: “It usually comes down to one person’s word against another’s or, in Atler’s case, her word against a father who is dead and unable to respond to the accusation.”
In five months, not ONE member of my family has even hinted the incest was not true.
I felt rage. At first. Then sadness. He belongs to that “good old boy” generation.
I sent him a blistering letter. I had to take it as a child. Just lie there and take it. I don’t have to take it as an adult. Not even from Gene Amole.
Oct. 6
Gene’s column reminded me how amazing our Denver papers have been. “Woman Of Courage.” “Brave.” “Marilyn has opened the floodgates.” Neither newspaper ever used the word “alleged” even though my father was one of the outstanding business leaders in Denver. Their positive coverage has played such a huge role in people feeling safe about coming forward.
Oct. 12
Becky and I have been writing for months now. I admire her. And NEVER have I seen such gorgeous handwriting, pages of script. Today she wrote me a 12-page letter. I am going to ask her to be one of the 15 survivors to stand and speak at our next huge survivor meeting. I hope she has the courage.
Oct. 18
A producer called again today (Suzanne Somers’ husband) and asked if I would just listen to the reasons why a movie of the week is what I should be doing. Twice I have told him “no.” But he is very engaging and fun to talk to—I listen.
“I really hear your reasons,” I said. “It just doesn’t feel right to me.’
Nov. 6
The national press is ripping into Roseanne. I hear the comments everywhere I go—”She’s just trying to raise her ratings. Do you really BELIEVE her?”
People wonder why children don’t “tell.” It isn’t even safe for ADULTS to come forward and be believed.
Nov. 7
Dr. Sullivan, Secretary of Health and Human Services, was coming to Denver. He wants to meet me. At a “photo opportunity,” he talks about my coming forward and the need to make changes. I’m grateful.
We met at the Family Crisis Center. They asked us if we would like to meet some of the violated children. We sat with them around a small children’s table. Conversation seemed slow, so I said to Ray, a shy, precious boy about 7, “Dr. Sullivan is going to meet with President Bush tomorrow. Is there anything you would like him to tell the president or ask the president?”
I didn’t expect him to ask for world peace, but I smiled inside at his response. “Yes. Would you ask the president to get me a Nintendo?”
I made a mental note to be sure the president sent him one.
I was told as I left that the little boy will probably NEVER be placed with a family. “Too difficult to place.”
Nov. 13
The Maria Shriver Show last night was all l had wanted it to be. DD called. So many thousands of people were calling, they couldn’t handle the calls. They took names and numbers and said we would call back. For Denver survivors, SUN awaited them.
Nov. 18
Letters. Letters of horror.
“My grandfather was 62 when he raped me. I was 12.”
“I am 50. The sexual terrorism inflicted on me by a brother has created an image of myself as forever damaged, forever defective. I roam and search, looking for objects of art. Every piece I have chosen is unfinished or shows brokenness, facelessness or actual damage—a defective piece.”
Nov. 19
(Fort Collins)
Larry spoke tonight as a support person. He speaks so differently from me. He is relaxed and funny and warm … and honest. He spoke about sexual dysfunction. Every survivor knows about that. Every “significant other” knows about that. I had spent 13 years of my life trying to not FEEL ANYTHING. Then I marry the love of my life. How is that process reversed? Slowly. Gently.
Larry told them about the first time we were intimate. We hadn’t planned it. It just finally happened. We were laughing so hard. Giggling, playing like two little puppy dogs.
One thing I do remember so vividly is thinking, “I’m laughing. We’re having so much fun.’
He read my mind. He said, “It’s OK to have fun.”
After we spoke, the line formed again. The meetings are so alike. They always line up—single file. A woman about 35 just looked at me. She was shaking. I had asked them to say their names. She had no intention of saying her name. I asked her if I could touch her.
She shook her head “NO!”
“Thank you for letting me know your boundaries,” I said.
Finally, she said, “Are you real? Are you real? Are you really real?”
“Yes,” I said, “I’m real. And when the pain gets so bad you think you can’t get through another day, I want you to remember my face, the peace I have found. The pain ends. I promise.”
Nov. 26
Shelley (Gonzales) from the Rocky Mountain News called today. She said I had been chosen one of the 10 best-dressed women in Denver. I started laughing.
Me? Best dressed? Are you kidding?
As the words left my mouth, I remembered the psychiatrist who called me: “Would you come over now and talk with a survivor? She wants to meet you to see if you are dirty.
“I’ll be right over.”
She was so very fragile emotionally. She could barely lift her head—much less look me in the eye. Actually, she didn’t. She just looked very carefully at my hands, my legs and then quickly at my face. She wasn’t able to say anything to me. I left.
She wrote me a letter. Her first sentence was, “How did you get clean?”
Dec. 3
Is there nothing left that is sacred? Is there no safe place?
A man, 42, is having flashbacks—he grew up in Boys Town. Oh no! Please don’t tell me it happened at BOYS TOWN. Have I heard from any other man who was violated at Boys Town? He would like to be in touch with him.
No. But now I know the truth. I will. Maybe not this month or this year, but there are others.
Dec. 4
I can’t get Ray off my mind.
How can we have a 7-year-old child who is not placeable?
Dec. 6
The woman in the psychiatrist’s office (the one who asked how I got clean) asks me if I would hold her. She will come once a week and I will just hold her for an hour.
Dec. 14
Went to a very elegant cocktail party tonight in the Denver Country Club area, a fund-raiser for Sen. Tim Wirth.
As I walked into a room looking for Larry, a man drew me aside and began a casual conversation. He was a very successful, articulate man. And then, as if he were saying “It snowed yesterday,” he said, “I had a situation sort of like yours, but I was older and it wasn’t as big a deal.”
I knew part of him wanted me to just say, “I’m so sorry” but I also knew that another part of him wanted to get his two-ton secret out. I come straight at it:
“How old were you?”
“Seven.”
At that point, a young daughter of our hosts came running through. I called to her: “How old are you?”
This young little voice said, “Seven.”
I said, “That’s how old you were.” Then, as gently as I could, I said, “Who was your violator?”
He dropped his head and said, “My mother.” And tears began streaming down his face. He said, “How do you get through this?” I gave him my number.
We left that cocktail party to go to a neighborhood party two blocks from our home. I had never met our hosts. The hostess beckoned to me. I went over to her. Her story began pouring out. Her uncle.
Will I ever go anywhere again without someone pulling me aside?
Jan. 5
The letters are unique and yet so much the same.
“I am 51. Two years ago I began having flashbacks. My father is a retired minister. He is 85. I know I will have to confront him for me to live.”
There are national organizations for adults sexually violated by priests. Isn’t that incredible? SNAP – Survivor Network for those abused by Priests.
They have national conventions! They asked me to give the keynote. What an honor.
Jan. 6
I began my research on priests; 4,392 Catholic priests have been plausibly (neither withdrawn nor disproven) accused of under-age sexual abuse by 10,667 individuals.
If I am just beginning to speak the words, I can only imagine how many thousands more priests and victims there are.
Dallas Monsignor Rehkemper said, “Boys who were as young as 9 knew what was right and wrong. Anybody who reaches the age of reason shares responsibility for what happens.”
I can’t breathe.
Jan. 29
(Another Montvlew survivors meeting, 1,100 people)
Becky is crying. She just can’t get herself together. She is terrified of standing up and speaking as a survivor tonight. I tell her this may not be the right time for her. It’s OK if she doesn’t want to speak. She needs to honor her “self.” But, I said, “If you do choose to do it, it’s OK if your pain shows. It’s OK if you cry.”
I know Becky has prepared for this night. It is her Olympic Games. Every seat in the ice skating rink is filled. The lights are turned off, the spotlight is turned on and the music begins. The skater begins to doubt: “Can I do this? Can I get through the triple jump?” That’s where the courage comes in.
I looked at her and knew she was going to do it.
She was incredible. Fragile and strong. Meek and powerful. Terrified and empowered. There was no doubt in my mind or hers that she had won the gold. She had done the triple jump perfectly.
How is it possible to know someone for 30 years and feel no bond and to know a survivor for a few months and feel so very close?
Jan. 31
Two teachers at a local high school called to ask me to “share my experiences” with 25 students. I sat on a tall stool and looked into the faces of 23 16-and 17-year-old girls and two boys.
I couldn’t have said more than five sentences before I knew! Why hadn’t I known it before I arrived? Had it been any different ANY PLACE I had been since my story became public?
I had to stop. I had to say it: “I can’t believe how many of YOU, in this class, have been sexually violated.”
When class was over, two girls couldn’t go on to the next class. One girl didn’t move when the bell rang. She sat in the back, her head down in the “shame” position. I had noticed her during class. No spark in her eyes, no color in her face. Empty.
I went back and put my hand on her arm. I shouldn’t have done that. So many of us, sexually violated, can’t be touched.
I remember before Larry and I were married, he said to his parents, “Don’t touch her. Don’t hug her. Don’t show her any physical affection.”
They must have thought, “What is going on?”
As difficult as it was for them—so loving, so giving—they tried to comply with his request. It would be several years before I could accept and return their love.
Why didn’t he tell them? Would I have honored a secret of his?
Telling a survivor’s secret is THE most violative thing a person can do. Larry never did that. Never. Not once.
I removed my hand from the girl’s arm and just said, “You don’t have to do this alone. There’s a lot of support available. Please don’t try to do this alone.”
I walked into the hall and said to the teachers, “Why did I do this on a Friday? I have opened up their pain and they have no place to put it. And I’m leaving town.”
The teachers said, “What should we do?”
“When they come to class on Monday, ask them to answer this question, As Marilyn spoke·, I felt … ‘ and FedEx them to me in Laguna Beach.”
I felt despair when I read their comments.
One-third had been sexually violated. One-third! Nothing is changing.
Feb. 8
Tim Wirth’s wife, Wren, sent a large personal check to SUN. The producer of Maria Shriver sent a personal check. A woman in Aurora sent $1. I will never forget any of them.
Feb. 12
SUN brings my mail by today. I can’t believe it. Why is it still pouring in? I just can’t do it! There isn’t enough time. I now set my alarm at 4:30 a.m. I feel so overwhelmed.
Feb. 15
I was answering survivor letters on the plane today. I thought I had read it all. What more could someone say to shock me?
I gasped out loud. “Oh, my God.” When she was 12, she walked down the stairs into the basement and found her father (her perpetrator) hanging from a pipe. And we wonder why children run away or don’t do well in school or take drugs.
Feb. 19
Tonight I addressed a national conference of ob-gyn in Vail. I gave the same general talk tonight about how doctors can and should be more supportive. Why aren’t we asked on the long questionnaires: Have you had chicken pox … measles … mumps … were sexually violated as a child?
Being sexually violated as a child will have far more physical ramifications in our adult lives than mumps or chicken pox.
Feb. 20
Colorado Psychiatric Association asked me to be their banquet speaker. The psychiatrist/director let me know they have no funds to pay their speaker. It is non-profit.
I wrote back a letter of regret. I concluded my letter by saying, “When I was asked to pay $150 for 50 minutes, 3 to 4 times a week, I never had a psychiatrist say he was non-profit. I do a lot of things for free. This won’t be one of them.
Feb. 21
I was standing in line ready to board a plane in Denver. A woman was standing behind me. She said, “May I speak to you?”
“Of course.”
“I work with the Jefferson County court system, so sexual violations are nothing new to me. But I must tell you about what happened when Roseanne was here.
“You and she were on the evening news. I was watching with my mother. She is 64. She was acting strange. I said, hesitatingly,
‘Mother were you ever sexually violated?’
“She put her head down and said almost in a whisper, ‘I’ve never told anyone.’ “
She was only fondled, the woman said, but …
“Please,” I said, “never say ONLY. Every sexual violation is a trauma. We cannot compare.”
March 2
Tonight I addressed over 900 people in Portland. Afterward, a survivor stood in line for over 45 minutes. When I spoke to her, she couldn’t speak back. I asked her if I could touch her. She said, “Yes.” I put my arms around her and she held me tight and didn’t let go for a long time. Then, with her head down, she turned and walked away.
A few minutes later when I glanced up, I noticed she had gone to the back of the line. It was at least an hour before she reached me again. Her head was down. I said with a smile, “You’re back!” And I waited. Whatever it was, she was agonizing over it. With her head still down, she reached for the words.
“My name is Linda,” she said, “and I’m an incest survivor!’
Then she looked up and said, “I did it. I had to come back and do it.”
Her body language changed. Her shoulders came back, her head came up and she walked away knowing she had taken a giant step in the healing process.
March 5
(In Greeley)
A student at UNC stood in line after my talk tonight. She was so animated. I was unprepared for what she said.
“I reported my father. He shot himself in the head and left a note saying he killed himself because I had reported him.”
“He victimized you again,” I said.
“I don’t feel any guilt,” she said. “None. And now I have a really wonderful stepfather.”
Hopefully, she is as peaceful with this as she appears. Hopefully.
March 6
DD tells me our next big survivor meeting is on May 8th at Montview Church. This will be the only meeting I will not know anything about. They have decided to celebrate the first year by having survivors come forward to say how my coming forward changed their lives.
March 13
Flew to Phoenix early today. Lenora lives there. She was executive director of the Miss America Pageant for 35 years before she retired. I know I wasn’t her favorite Miss America as far as friendship, but she respected me the most. I was the Miss America she had always hoped for—handsome family, successful, debutante, Phi Beta Kappa.
Her respect meant everything to me. No Miss America ever worked harder to earn it.
She always spoke the truth. Today was no different.
“I don’t like what you’re doing,” she told me. “I don’t approve of what you’re doing. I wish you would stop it.”
My reaction surprised me. I wasn’t defensive. I didn’t try to explain. I felt peaceful … calm, because I knew this was exactly what I should be doing. My “day child” doesn’t have to work to exhaustion to win everybody’s approval anymore.
What a fabulous gift I have been given. Self-acceptance.
No. I wasn’t given that. I worked for 53 years to accomplish that. Let’s give credit where credit is due!
March 14
I spoke to a survivor meeting in Phoenix this morning. Over 1,000. The hospital executive who sponsored the meeting said, “I can’t believe the numbers! Why now? Why are so many corning forward NOW?”
I said, “Once the people of Germany saw the television pictures of part of the Berlin Wall being hacked down with axes and hammers, East and West Berliners began to realize the wall COULD come down. Once they realized that it could be done, nothing could stop them!
“That’s what is happening with survivors.”
Later in the day, I spoke to survivors in Long Beach. I knew the minute I walked into the room that the only child in the room was Caprice. Her mother and I had written so many letters. I can’t remember ever seeing a more beautiful little girl. Dressed like an angel. Soft. Sweet. She walked over to me. I got down on my knees so I would be her height and I said, ” Is your name Caprice?”
She said, “Yes.”
She lives in Beverly Hills. I told her mother I would be speaking in Long Beach. I asked Caprice if I could hold her. She said “yes.” She is five years old.
How could a father violate this child? How? What goes on in his mind?
I have watched Jennifer sleep for so many years wondering how my father could literally PRY me open. I did not go gently into the night. He had to pry me open.
I blessed this mother for doing everything she possibly could to help this child make sense out of a father’s violation of a sacred trust. Something my mother could not/would not do, to her death at age 88.
March 16
A survivor in Fort Morgan has been fired. She claims it’s because she came forward as an incest survivor and named her violator who is still living. Not every disclosure has a positive ending.
March 17
(West Palm Beach, Fla.)
I was told a survivor had driven from Orange County, California to West Palm Beach to hear me speak tomorrow morning. My host told me this in ASTONISHMENT! There was nothing about it that surprised me.
I already knew a lot about her. Her emotional and physical pain is unbearable. She wants to die, not because she doesn’t want to live, but because having to relive the childhood memories is too overwhelming.
She is looking to me to be her “miracle cure.” I did that so many times. I had an opportunity to work with a very, very well known “healer.” (Tony Robbins) He was coming to Denver for his famous “fire walk.” I went to the event and walked on fire. The next morning, he would see me in private. Maybe HE would be my miracle cure.
Why, WHY, WHY didn’t I ask him what he would charge? As I rose to leave, he said, “The charge is $3,000.”
March 19
(Flying home from Buffalo)
I knew the good-looking young businessman next to me wanted to talk, not because he found me charming, but because he was bored! Finally, he said, “What do you do?”
“I’m a speaker.”
“What do you speak about?” “You really don’t want to know,” I said.
He said, “Yes, I really do.”
“OK, I’m an incest survivor!” His face lost all expression. He turned a little green. His mouth dropped just a little.
I said, “Now, I am going to tell you what to say to me: I’m so very, very sorry for what you had to go through.”‘
He said, almost mechanically, and with no expression, “I’m so very, very sorry for what you had to go through.”
I said, “Thank you,” and went back to my letter-writing.
March 25
It’s been almost a year. My dream has come true: We now have over 2,500 survivors coming to SUN.
April 1
I spoke to survivors in Baltimore tonight. When I talk to survivors one-on-one, I am careful to keep contact with the room. Sometimes a survivor just sits alone, in acute anxiety, trying to look fine but not fine at all.
There was a young woman—I’d guess between 25 and 30. She was sitting alone. She waited until absolutely everyone had left the room—even my “host.” Then she came forward.
I thought I had seen the depths of despair. I hadn’t met her. She sobbed—not hysterically, but agonizingly.
“I am one of THEM,” she said.
“I am a perpetrator! Look at me. I did it. To three younger boys. When I was 13. I’m one of THEM!”
I didn’t say anything. She was reaching deep inside herself for more.
“I’ve talked to all three boys, now men. I’ve told my parents. I told my husband before we were married. I just can’t get over the guilt.
“I have no excuses. Yes, it had been done to me since I was 5, but that doesn’t change anything. It was over about a 6-month period. I never did it after that.
“I’m a teacher. I would never violate a child. Never. NEVER! I can’t forgive myself!”
Sometimes I feel so inadequate. I spoke to her from my heart.
That’s all I could do.
I asked her if I could hold her. She nodded. We just held each other.
April 2
I am not supposed to know anything about the May 8th meeting, but the high profile businesswoman who put the letter in my mailbox almost a year ago has written to me. She has asked to stand and speak. To honor me.
I don’t know which started first, the smile on my face or the tears flooding my eyes.
She’s going to do it! She is going to risk her life by coming forward. She believes her business will immediately fail—that all the people she has served so efficiently and effectively will no longer want to do business with her because she is an incest survivor. It is a belief all of us have.
I would like to tell her that isn’t true. But that is the risk.
April 6
Spoke to Dallas Junior League.
Over 600, standing room only. Largest meeting they ever had.
This speech was booked before my story of incest became public. I was asked to give a “motivational speech.” (I had been a motivation speaker for almost 30 years.)
I called and asked if it would be OK to share my personal story and how unsafe it still is for children to come forward.
This is what they were hoping I would do.
I can never go back to my old life of corporate motivational speaking.
April 8
(Pittsburgh)
Child-abuse conference. One woman waited until everyone had gone.
She kept her sobs inside. I could barely understand her, she was so choked with emotion. The tears flowed. She was 72, had never told anyone until two years ago when she was coming out of surgery.
“I was raped by my father when I was 8.”
Her head went down to the shame position, and she could not speak. I gently lift her head with my hands.
“Does your husband know?”
“No, because I’m too ashamed.”
I try to never give advice. Never. It isn’t my place. But I can’t help it.
“Tonight. Tell him tonight. Trust his love for you. Please.
“It is the biggest risk you will ever take. Please. Tonight. Take it.”
If 72-year-old women still cannot speak of it, can we expect a CHILD to speak of it?
