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Related Articles

To Hug or Not to Hug, That is the Question
The original story of being maliciously accused of child abuse by the parish priest.

To Hug or Not to Hug, II
Update to the story and excerpts from the messages posted by readers.

Forgiveness and Judgment
Where does a woman turn for support when falsely accused of child abuse?

Denial Does Not Mean Denial, I
Denial is not the deliberate ignoring of what we know. It is the inability of the conscious mind to accept a painful reality.

Denial Does Not Mean Denial, II
An example of a quarter century of denial by an abused wife in spite of plenty of evidence.

Selective Denial

by Traute Klein, biogardener

Even when a victim is well aware of being abused, she may still be in denial of certain aspects of it which are too painful to acknowledge. It happened to me. I knew about the emotional abuse but I was in denial of the physical abuse which caused me permanent injury. More than seven years later, the truth finally became apparent when I came across the notes which I had made at the time and forgotten. More details of the story can be read in "Forgiveness and Judgment," linked in the left column.

It all started on Remembrance Day 1998, when I was accused of child abuse by the parish priest. The story is told in "To Hug or Not to Hug, That Is the Question." Nothing ever happened to ease the emotional pain.

I am changing the wording to avoid using names.

Farewell Present

The farewell for the minister who had accused me of child abuse was followed by a reception in the parish hall. Various churches of the same denomination had sent representatives to convey their best wishes. At the lineup to shake the departing priest’s hand, a friendly Jamaican stood next to me. He was the assistant priest of a downtown church. He witnessed what happened. In my notes, I wrote, "Today, the minister gave me a farewell present, which I can never forget." That is what I wrote. That is not what happened.

The minister pressed my hand so hard that I howled in pain loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear me. The Jamaican priest could see that I was in agony and offered to pray for my hand. His loving concern alone made me feel better.

In the next few weeks, I saw the chiropractor repeatedly. He adjusted the dislocation of the bones in the hand, but the pain persisted. He informed me that the ligaments were permanently damaged.

I started wearing a copper bracelet to ease the pain. When I added a magnetic bracelet, I got even more relief. Now the hand only hurts on touch. Not to be able to shake people’s hands puts me in rather awkward situations. Germans always shake hands, and everyone knows that I have German upbringing, especially when they hear my given name "Traute."

I do not remember when I started to deny the injury of my hand. I only know that for years now I have not been able to tell people why I am wearing the bracelets. It isn’t to counteract arthritis as everyone thinks. Well, I know now, and I intend to tell people the truth without revealing a name.

One summer, I got a bad poison ivy rash on the forearm and had to take the bracelets off to apply my wet clay remedy. Without the bracelets, the pain kept me awake at night, but I never figured out what was causing that pain. That is denial. I have written about the psychological aspect in "Denial Does Not Mean Denial, I," also linked in the left column.

Selective Denial

Why is it that I denied this particular event? I have had no problem remembering the physical abuse to which the priest subjected me in 1998 when his big bear paws landed on my shoulders, pinning me down into an armchair, exacerbating an old accident injury. That injury should have been easy to forget, because a few visits to the chiropractor were able to ease the pain. No, I remembered that one well. Why could I not remember the damaged ligaments?

Well, I think I know why that particular event was too painful to remember. An injured hand is a terrible handicap for a musician, and playing the organ, piano, or guitar has caused me pain ever since the forceful farewell. It is too difficult for me even to imagine why anyone would consider putting a musician out of service on purpose, especially the musician who has given years of volunteer labor to provide music to the congregation, a service which he claimed he appreciated.

I have not been playing at any church since that time. I only sing now.

The physical abuse does not weigh on me as heavily as the allegations of child abuse. I am still intent on getting an apology for those from the congregation who had promised me to give it to me with or without the approval of the accusing priest, the congregation who now tell me, "Get over it. We have all been abused."

Afterthought

When in 2006 I found out that the accusing priest is now telling people that I ruined his career, I felt liberated. I realized that there is nothing more I can do to resolve this situation. True, I will never be able to forget what happened, but I am no longer allowing the memory to keep me from hugging children who need a loving touch.

It came about this way: The church custodian's boy usually lets me in the door when I arrive early to choir practice. One day, he got knocked down by a sibling right in front of me. His eye was blue from having hit the edge of the stairs. He cried. Without thinking, I gathered him up in my arms and comforted him. It felt as good to me as it did to him. He stopped crying, and I started crying, not tears of pain but tears of relief.

It had been seven years since I had hugged a child, seven wasted years. No one has the right to tell me that I cannot comfort a hurting child. I am here in the place of Jesus. I need to do what he would have done in the same situation.