When the abused minimize

About four years ago, after my now ex-husband and I had completed a year and a half of couples counseling with a Christian counseling organization, I started seeing a counselor on my own. Our marriage was essentially over, but both of us continued on for a while longer, floundering forward, trying to rebuild from the ashes for the sake of our children and to keep our vows, our sacred covenant with each other. I had never gotten any sort of therapy or counseling for what had happened to me before this.

The reasons for my not receiving care are many. When I first told my parents of the years of Doc's abuse, they offered to get me help, in their own way. They wanted me to go see my pastor about it. I refused, in fact I asked them to please not tell him about it. I was ashamed and didn't trust my Pastor (rightly so). My mother offered for me to go speak to her best friend, who had a background in social work, and I refused that as well. I told them that I was ok, and that I didn't need help. They took my word for it. So, my mother sought help from a cognitive therapist for herself instead. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that she got outside support, it's just a very bizarre reaction looking back at it. 

However, this was not an uncommon reaction to this sort of situation within the IFB. Keeping it hidden and allowing me to lie about how unaffected I was, was easier than facing up to the fact that I was so damaged. My Dad asked me if I wanted him to go to the police. I told him no. I told him I didn't want to hurt Doc's wife and his family. He brought it up to our Pastor despite my protestations, and our Pastor counseled them to respect my wishes and not bring charges against my abuser. He also offered to counsel me.

My Pastor was an inappropriate option for counseling, but that would be a standard and typical response within the IFB church to do. He was inappropriate for the basic glaring facts that he was a man, and he was a man with power within the church with no background in sexual abuse counseling or therapy. My mother's best friend was also not a viable option as I didn't trust that she wouldn't go to my mother with whatever I would tell her. And the other reason is that I had been brought up believing that therapists and psychologists couldn't be trusted. Depression, anxiety, mental illness, trauma, those were sin issues, not anything more. Only the most severe of disorders were seen as something to be turned over to outside mental health workers. I didn't want to be one of those nut cases.

I convinced myself, for many years, that I was fine. That I was strong, and that it was not that bad. It was only three years after all. I told myself that I could put up with the periodic nightmares, bouts with depression, anxieties, and flashbacks. I avoided triggers as much as possible. I bottled up my thoughts and feelings on the matter. I convinced myself that it could have been so much worse so I should be thankful for that. I told myself that I was only raped once, so that was not too bad (this was also a lie, but I will expound in another post). I never told my parents that I had been raped. I felt it would be too much for them to bear. This is quite common, since children frequently don't tell of the abuse or don't tell all of it in an effort to protect their parents. I told only a handful of my closest friends what had happened, and even at that I was careful with my disclosures. My pride didn't want me to be seen as a victim by anyone and I didn't wish to shock or offend or be pitied.

This is classic minimizing.

If it's not, "that bad" then it can be managed. It makes it less real, less painful. It's one of the human brain's way of protecting itself. Minimizing, dissociation, "patrolling my borders" (not allowing myself to be vulnerable or fully loved), and compartmentalizing my feelings/experiences were how I protected myself.

My counselor pointed this out to me, that I had minimized my experience to a tolerable level when she had me write out my story to her. When she read it, she told me that my story was horrifying and that she didn't know how I had remained as sane as I was and how I hadn't turned my back completely on Christianity. She asked me, "How is it that you still believe?" I told her that the alternative, that there was no God, was a concept that was even more horrific to me. That's not to say that I haven't had my doubts, my fears, and my anger towards God. I have had all of these, and occasionally still do. I am human after all.

By the time that I started seeing my counselor, my nightmares had returned and insomnia had overtaken me. The stresses of my marriage had triggered the memories back to the forefront. I had never put into words what had happened. I had never outlined the timeline, put names, circumstances, and scenery to the story of my abuse. I had never before told anyone everything. I had been silent, and I had been silenced. She wanted to help me find my voice, to help me to view my abuse as it was, not how I and others had whitewashed it to be.

If my family is reading this now, they are finding out for the first time the details of my abuse. We've never talked about it much. It isn't light dinner conversation and frankly I am better at writing it out then speaking of it anyhow. I don't bring it up, they respectfully, do not bring it up. There is nothing to be done about it at this point anyhow. What's done, is done. I enjoy a decent relationship with my family so to me there is no point picking at old wounds. My parents have already told me that they wish they had handled things differently, and that is enough for me. 

The statute of limitations is long gone. Proving my allegations would be difficult now, some twenty five years later. It doesn't make them false, it just means I will never have justice for myself and anyone else that he may have hurt. The best that I can hope to do, is to use my story to educate others.

God forbid, that if your child ever comes to you and tells you that they have been abused, please get them help. Don't ask them, as minors, what you should do. Even if they are an older teen, as I was, realize that they do not have the maturity to be fully aware of the life consequences of refusing therapy and not filing a police report. I know I did not. Be a parent, be an adult, take the reins, and get them help. File a report with the police. Contact any organization that the abuser worked for and let them know that a report has been filed with the police. Then demand that the person who is being accused is kept away from children during the investigation. 

Get your child a victim's advocate. Get them a licensed therapist with experience in the field. If your child needs to talk about the abuse, let them. If they aren't willing to go into specifics, don't force the issue. They can deal with those things in therapy, and like it or not, for at least a short time they may feel safer addressing the specifics with a non-relative. Don't take that personally. You are there to support them, and to advocate for them. If you show them, by your actions, that you believe them and are there for them, it will allow them to trust you and eventually confide in you. Assure them that they are not alone and that they have nothing to be ashamed of.

You can expect that there may be some changes in your child's behaviour. Perhaps they already had some of these behaviours before the reveal. Bring up any potentially damaging behaviours (drug use, alcohol, reckless sexual behaviour, bullying, skipping school, cutting, smoking, eating disorders, etc.) to their therapist. They can work with you and your child to help your child to learn better coping mechanisms for their pain. Your child may need medication in addition to therapy. This is not a sign of weakness, or a heart issue, or a sin issue. Accept the medication. They may only need it for a time, or they may need it long term.

If you go to your Pastor and he doesn't immediately make sure that you are going to the police, leave that church. Report that Pastor. A Pastor is a mandated reporter. By not alerting authorities they are breaking the law. They are required to contact children and youth within 48 hours of hearing about or witnessing child abuse. When I came forward with my abuse, it was 2 years before clergy were added to the list of those who are mandated reporters. So at that time, legally, he was not required to report it. Ethically, morally, I believe that he was. He lives with the knowledge that his silence hurt not only myself and my family, but who knows how many other children that Doc had access to over the years. As far as I know, he never notified my former Pastor in Ohio. If he did, they are both culpable.

If your child trusts you enough to come to you with what happened to them, above all, love them. Accept where they are in their journey to healing. Cry with them, be angry with them, hold them, give them space when needed. But in all things, love.

Rainy days and Sundays always get me down...

I know the actual song title is Rainy days and Mondays, not Sundays, but Mondays didn't get me down. Sundays did. And actually, I love the rain. It's cleansing. And now, we all have the carpenters stuck in our heads. You're welcome.

In my post about my birthday, I related the first time that I was abused by Doc. That year, when I was ten, my birthday fell on a Friday, as it did this year. Friday the thirteenth. A bad omen? Nah, I don't believe in such things, but still...ten was a bad year, full of discoveries I wasn't wanting to make.

Saturday came and went, I don't remember a thing about that day. Probably grocery shopping with mom, getting homework done (no homework could be done on Sunday, Sunday is the Lord's day and working is a sin), maybe a trek over to the farmer's pond to get in some fishing.

But Sunday, Sunday I remember.

When things happen for the first time, a person tends to remember them the most vividly. There would be many, many Sundays after this, and quite a few I remember, but that first car ride after church, after the kiss on Friday...that was never forgotten.

It was by this time a habit of mine to ride in Doc's small Mercedes sedan after church. I don't remember when that started happening exactly, a month or so prior I suppose. I loved that car. It was brown, and was an 190. It had a tan leather interior and purred like a kitten when he'd start it up.

It was such luxury compared to our powder blue K car that constantly needed something fixed. I always sat in the passenger side, in the back seat, unless his mother, beloved GG wasn't there and then I was in the front seat. Doc would frequently hold my hand while he drove, reaching back between the front seats to do so. I hadn't thought anything of this when it first started. Doc's wife took her station wagon separately to church, just in case Doc's beeper went off in church and he had to go to the hospital.

GG was a lovely southern lady with a Georgia drawl and a manner that dripped of honey coated southern style. She had such poise and dignity. She also had a deeply embedded racist streak a mile wide. GG was short for Great Grandmother, as she was known by Doc's grandchildren and his kids as well, though why she was GG to his kids as well I don't remember. She simply was. She had a huge collection  of books at her apartment and when I would visit she would let me borrow one of my choosing. Thanks to her, I was introduced to Tolkien, Poe, Bronte, Austen, and many others. I adored her, despite her proclivity to call anyone who was African American the "n" word which my father forbid me to say, to his credit. I had never heard that word before her, and I absently used it once without fully realizing it's connotations, which resulted in my father giving me a very stern talking to. She was in her 80's and was a product of the Jim Crow south. She was also a little hard of hearing and her eyesight wasn't excellent, though her faculties were acute.

We had gotten into the routine of going out to lunch after church on Sundays with Doc and his wife, sometimes one or more of his adult children. He had a son who lived locally and went to our church. Often we went to Perkins, sometimes to our home, sometimes to Doc's ranch style house in PA. But we always spent a couple of hours together after church with Doc and his wife and GG. And, I always rode in Doc's car.

I dreaded Sunday now. I was still extremely confused as to what had happened on my birthday. I still couldn't quite figure out if I had done something wrong, or right, or if he had done something awful. I just knew that car ride was going to be hard to avoid.

Sunday School "marching in the infantry" and a forgetful lesson. Regular church service and sitting with my parents and sister, watching our morbidly obese Pastor preach with sweat glistening on his bloated brow and me trying to stay awake, but mostly doodling in the margins and back pages of my KJV Bible. My sister glaring at me for doodling and not taking notes and "following along" adequately. A closing hymn, altar call, "I surrender all", a few people coming forward to pray and confess their sins. Pastor Fatty heading to the back to shake hands with everyone as we left with his wife at his side, a woman clearly stuck in 1965 with her oddly bouffant hairdo coiffed just so with flowers or ribbons at the back of this mass of poofy hair. She doesn't realize that it's 1986. Even my mother is puzzled by her hairdo, but this odd hair is something that never changes on this tall, meek, matronly, frail looking woman with her slight southern accent. (I heard from a friend who still lives in the area that she still sports this hair today.) Handshakes, "Great sermon Pastor Fatty", Pastor Fatty hugs me and calls me his "jewelie". I don't what this is supposed to mean,  he's been calling me that for months, and it's weird. I smile anyhow and pretend to be flattered. My friend Julie rolls her eyes and tosses her tousled blonde curly hair out of her face as she takes my hand and we head out to the parking lot to play a bit while we wait for the adults to quit talking about boring adult stuff.

When you're a pastor's kid, you learn patience. You learn that you are most definitely not the most important person in your parents life. The church and it's people, they come first. After church, someone almost always "grabs" my mother and she ends up talking about who knows what with them. My mother is a naturally chatty, outgoing person, she thrives on the interaction. She is the consummate Pastor's wife. She was born for this, I'm convinced. I'm more like my father. My Dad is quiet, and he is often also "grabbed" by someone else who has cornered him into some deep conversation that he really would rather not get into at this time, he has an office after all, and people could come to see  him when he's there. But he talks, and he at some point gets a hold of my mother and they head out the door. My sister is being all cool and 17, chatting with her boyfriend, a nephew of Pastor Fatty's. (Although at this time I don't remember if she was dating that doofus yet or not, maybe they were just chatting?) My Dad calls out my name and I run over towards him, my ballet style flats kicking up the dust in the parking lot as I wave goodbye to Julie and a few other girls. Doc is standing at his car, which is parked by our car. He opens the backdoor and motions me to get in. I skid to a halt and I notice my mother's eyes narrowing as she glances down at my feet, probably she's thinking about how it's not ladylike to run in church shoes and how she can't afford to just keep buying me shoes because I get them scuffed up so often, but she says nothing. 

"I'm going to go with my Dad." I say to Doc.

 "What?! Why?" Doc protests, noticeably disappointed. 

"Jeney, go with Doc." My Mom intones. 

"Yes, Come on, I thought you loved riding with me and GG?" Doc's looking a bit agitated, and his mother in the passenger seat looks out at me and smiles.

"I'd just rather ride with my family."

"Oh come on, we're just going to Perkins, I'll get you that pizza burger you love!"

(My ten year old mind does not figure out that whether I go with him or not, I'm still going to end up at Perkins, with said beloved burger in my possession, regardless of my mode of transportation.) I hesitate.

"I, I..." I look at my Dad...Rescue me, please!

My Dad opens up his door and starts to get inside, "Just go with Doc, Jeney, stop being a brat."

My sister looks at me in confusion and gets in the K car. I'm obviously such a weird little sister. She's so cool, I'm so awkward.

I acquiesce and get into the car. My Dad never calls me a brat, he may tell me I'm acting like one or to not act like one but he doesn't outright call me that. That really stung. Bratty kids are the worst. I'm very aware of this. Doc shuts my door a little louder than usual.

We pull out of the parking lot behind my parents car, GG chatting away with Doc in the front seat. I'm staring at the odd netted pouch behind her seat. I'm thinking about how impractical a pouch that thing is, how does one put their barbies in there without them falling out on a long trip?

"Can I hold your hand Jeney?" I'm pulled out of my deep thoughts regarding toy logistics in netted car pouches by Doc setting his hand on my skirted knee. His tone is...off. Ominous. I will later recognize his tone as aroused. I don't think he liked my trying to get out of riding with him.
"Yes" I take his hand, I didn't like it on my knee. Holding it was better than having it there.

He makes my skin crawl. I don't really want to hold his hand. His hands are rough, the hands of a surgeon who washes them constantly. I let go of his hand and try to push it back towards him. He drops it back onto my knee and continues talking to GG. She asks me something about the sermon. I give the pat answer of "because Jesus" something and it satisfies her. Doc's hand is no longer on my covered knee, he's pulled up my skirt and is lightly caressing my bare thigh. The sensation itself is not unpleasant, but the touch is not wanted, this is highly confusing. Do I like this? Do I not like this? My next thought is that I should have worn tights, despite the hot weather. I determine to always wear tights or nylons to church from now on. No more bare legs or short socks.

Doc slides his seat back a bit at the light. What is he doing that for? I don't like this. My heart is racing, I feel like I am in some kind of danger but I don't know what kind. He's a doctor though, and he's my doctor, and my Dad's best friend. I can trust him, after all everyone respects and trusts him. He continues chatting with GG, turns up WGOJ on the radio with his driving hand, then pulls out when the light turns.

His hand slides up my leg, and GG is humming along with the hymn on the radio. They aren't talking anymore.

Doc looks at me out of the corner of his eye. I don't move. I'm frozen again. Why does that keep happening? His hand is rubbing the front of my panties. Ok, this I know is NOT alright. Right? He smiles. GG hums. Wetness between my legs. What the? He grins. He whistles along to the music. His fingers have pulled aside the elastic at the side of my panties and his fingers, rough and relentless, they probe, they rub, they penetrate. They hurt. I suffer. I'm silent. 

The car stops. I didn't even realize that we had gotten to Perkins. He takes his hand away in one quick motion and grabs a napkin from some pocket in the car where he stashes such things. He wipes his hand, and picks up another napkin. I don't move. I feel panicked. He gets out and walks around the car. GG says thank you to him as he opens her door. I see my Dad, sister, and Mom getting out of their car, my mother already laughing with Mrs. Doc who she's chatting with from several spaces away. My sister looks bored. He's opened the door and is standing there. I glare at him. I'm flooded with anger and then suddenly with terrible guilt. I shouldn't have let him do that, and I shouldn't feel anger. Anger is sinful. Or is it? Yes, yes anger is sinful. 

"Come on Jeney, we haven't got all day." Doc says, and reaches down to take my hand and hands me a napkin. My face is wet. I must have cried at some point. I dab at my face and toss the napkin onto his clean floor. He makes a face. I dare him to reprimand me with my eyes stabbing at his. He sighs, not worth his time to say anything about the napkin.

I get out of the car and he pulls me in close to him for a hug, kisses my head, and whispers, "Next time, don't fight getting in the car with me. Oh, and you're bleeding, better go to the bathroom when we get inside and take care of that. Do it right away or you'll have stains and we don't want anyone to know about our forbidden love now do we?" He pulls away from me, shuts the door, and says audibly, "You're such a treasure, you know that? I'm so glad Jesus brought you to me."

We head into Perkins and I go to the bathroom. He's right, I'm bleeding. Last time I bled down there I had fallen off of my bike onto the pedal and had gotten cut. That hurt then, this hurt now.

I still don't know what to do. I still don't know if I should tell anyone. What on earth do I say? I had told him he could hold my hand. Holding hands was the gateway. Women were the gatekeepers. Men were the commitment keepers. Had I opened the gate? It would seem that I had. I had made him break his commitment to his wife. I was an awful girl. But, he thought I was a treasure. Why? Why did he do this? What had I done to make him think I wanted this? I didn't even know what "this" was. What had just happened?

The rest of the day I don't remember. I know we ate lunch and then went home. 

Unfortunately that Sunday was the first of many Sundays. He molested or assaulted me on a weekly basis for the next three years unless I was away at my grandparents or he at the hospital. He was relentless, but he was careful not to get caught. He was manipulative, and when we were alone he'd be sure to tell me how much he loved me and that no one would believe me if I told. I believed him. I would cry sometimes and he would tell me to be quiet. I would tell him no and he would do whatever he liked anyhow. I stopped saying no. I stopped crying. He always told me to be quiet. He wasn't truly interested in me at all, in my thoughts, in my desires or lack of them. It was all about him. There were times when we were alone and he would assault me in one manner or another and then we'd pray together. Sometimes he would pray for God to deliver him of the temptation of me and I'd pray that as well, I'm sure I meant it far more than he did. Sometimes he would pray a prayer of thanksgiving, so grateful that God had brought me to him. Always he referred to what happened between us in terms of relationship. He thought he was having an affair with me. He thought of me as his mistress. I thought of me in much the same way, due to his groomings of me. I felt so awful about myself, I was quite the temptress apparently and I didn't even know how that was happening. I tried so often to get out of seeing him, getting invited to sleepovers on Friday nights or having friends over, forging a civil and then close relationship with my sister and trying to get her to help me not to have to do things with them. Sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn't. My sister was becoming an adult and although she made as much time for me as she could, she was forging her own path, as she should do at that age.

As an adult, I can see very clearly now how he groomed me, how he mislead me. I see how he was a master at manipulation. I also see some glaring warning signs that my parents missed. Granted, in our small, trusting community, they weren't looking for such signs.

Here were some red flags: My wanting to go with Doc in his car initially and then suddenly not wanting to, that was a red flag. My abusers extreme attentiveness to me and insistence on having access to me. My loving going to his house for a game of spades or a dip in the pool and then protesting going over was a red flag. My sudden grasp of certain sexual things where I had absolutely no frame of reference for those things before was a red flag.

As a parent, I'd encourage you to be as honest as possible with your children about sex. I'd encourage you to start the dialogue about their bodies and sex before they hit puberty, not afterwards. I was ill equipped due to my sheltered existence to deal with the hand I was dealt. Regardless of what your job is, particularly if you are in the ministry, do NOT put other people's needs before your family. Doing so alienates your child from your affections which causes distrust and a lack of self worth.

My parents thought they were protecting my innocence by not talking about such things. In fact, the opposite is what happened.

Let's get technical...

I have a new book on my list to buy and read from Hayley Dimarco, called Technical Virgin, How far is too far? Not because I expect to like the book or even agree with most of it, but because of a recent broadcast that featured the author on Family Life Today. a-new-standard-or-an-old-sin And now, like a person who sees a train barreling down the tracks at a stuck vehicle, I must read it. 

I listen to Family Life today fairly regularly. On the whole, I enjoy their broadcasts. Although there are things that are sometimes said that make me cringe inwardly and trigger my inner fundy, I tend to enjoy their programs when they are talking about blending step families, strengthening your marriage, dealing with different phases of parenting, etc. Whenever I'm out for homevisits to Amish country in particular I listen to the program because it's a lot of driving around and I like the distraction.

However, this broadcast was a doozy. A misinformative, toddler shaming (why is that a thing?!), rape culture promoting mess of a broadcast. 

So firstly, let's examine the presenter Hayley DiMarco, from her website, hungryplanet.net 

Hayley DiMarco  is the best-selling author of more than thirty books, including Dateable, Marriable, Mean Girls, Sexy Girls, God Girl and The Woman of Mystery. She spent the early part of her career working for a little shoe company called Nike in Portland, Oregon and Thomas Nelson Publishers in Nashville, Tennessee.

In 2002 Hayley left Nelson and founded Hungry Planet, a company intensely focused on feeding the world’s appetite for truth by producing books and new media, taking on issues of faith and life with a distinctly modern voice.  Shortly after founding Hungry Planet, Hayley successfully completed a nationwide executive search for someone to run the company so she could focus on writing. She describes her husband, Michael, as her most successful business acquisition!

Hayley has been a featured guest speaker for such large events as Women of Faith, Precept National Women’s Convention, and MOPS Intl. Leadership Convention among others. She has also consulted on the creation and enhancement of some of the largest stadium events tuned to teens and young women in North America.

Does it bother anyone else that she describes her husband as a business acquisition? 

In the broadcast, Hayley reveals that she has one daughter who is eleven months old. And yet, we are to take her as some sort of expert in parenting teens and sexuality of teens. I don't see in her description on her website any sort of background in childhood behaviour or teaching or....or anything really other than working for nike, working for a publishing company, and being an author.The only expertise that she has is the fact that she is a woman. I'm not dismissive of this fact, just that it is her only qualification. But perhaps her husband is an expert in the field? Maybe he is a pediatrician? A pschologist? Social worker? Youth Minister? Teacher? Sadly, but not surprisingly, no. 

Michael's background includes a degree in mass communication, hosting talk radio, coaching volleyball at the university level, working in digital publishing at the largest Bible software company in the world, and stints as a marketing and creative strategist for international organizations and ministries.  He is general manager of Hungry Planet, a publishing company founded by his wife, Hayley, that works with fresh authors who want to reach an increasingly postmodern culture with premodern truth.

Hayley and Michael are married, and live with their daughter, Addison, on the shores of Old Hickory Lake just outside of Nashville, Tennessee.

So we have two non experts, with no life experience raising teens, telling us how to approach teen sexuality. That sounds...great?

I knew I was in for a doozy of misinformation when the broadcast opened up with this quote from the show: 

Bob: For years, teenagers, who have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, have been asking the 

question: “So how far can I go? What does the Bible say about how far I can go?” 

Hayley DiMarco says that's really the wrong question. What they need to be asking is, 

“What is a virgin?” 

Hayley: I don't like to draw lines. A lot of kids just want to know: "Draw the line for me. 

Just tell me, ‘Here it is’." The trouble with drawing a line is that they tend to fall over it 

very easily because they didn't decide, in their heads, "This is how far I'm going to go," 

or, "This is what constitutes virginity." 

But I think that a virgin is someone that doesn't allow her body to become sexual 

temptation or to become an object of lust to her boyfriend. 

Somebody needs to tell Mrs. Dimarco what a virgin is. The dictionary is pretty clear. A virgin is someone who has not engaged in sexual intercourse. That's it. We don't need to redefine it and and we certainly don't need to heap shame upon girls whose boyfriends might find them sexually attractive. Also, Mrs. Dimarco, children need definitive boundaries and lines. And they definitely need honest answers, not your made up definition of what you "think" something is. 

So, I sit back, sip on my coke and continue to drive on, waiting to hear what other pearls of information this young, inexperienced mother has to give to me. 

Hayley: ...There was recently a study done by Yale and Columbia 

Universities that stated that girls that sign up to these pledges you're talking about—

abstinence pledges—agree to stay pure until they're married are contracting STDs at 

the same rate as girls that haven't signed the pledge. So, there's something wrong. 

I agree with True Love Waits and all those pledges—I think they're fantastic—but we're 

missing—somewhere along the line, whoever is communicating it to the girls is missing 

the mark of what, as you say, innocence really is. 

I agree, there is something wrong, and that something wrong is that parents aren't talking frankly to their children about sex and STI's. It's an all or nothing policy that is damaging a whole generation of young men and women. At least she at least acknowledges that studies are showing that abstinence pledges aren't working the way parents are wanting them to.

Hayley: A technical virgin would be somebody who believes that anything, short of 

intercourse, does not count against her virginity. She thinks if she does any kind of 

fooling around—oral sex is a very big issue—a very big, big, big problem—even in the 

Christian church. I know that word is not even popular. It's hard to say in a lot of media 

outlets, but it has to be said because parents don't understand that it's happening to 

their kids. It's happening in 8th

 grade. It's happening in high school, and it's happening 

because we're afraid to say the word. We're afraid to talk about it. So, our girls are just 

assuming that what the world says—"Yes, that's like a hug. It's no different. It's not 

intimate. No problem. Don't worry about it,"—they're buying that line. 

Here's an idea, don't be afraid to say the words, Oral Sex. There, I said it. Oral sex. Oral sex. Oral sex, oral sex, oral sex. Parents, say the words, give the information. Oral sex, it's not like a hug, it's better than a hug, and it's a bigger commitment than a hug, and you can get STI's from oral sex. There ya go, easy.

Hayley: Yes, pediatricians are being warned—that if they have girls coming in that are 

showing signs of being sexually-active or being intimate with their boyfriends—that they 

should be sent to counseling for depression. Sexual activity—and even just—they say 

even relationships, when they're young girls—leads to depression. 

Yes, she said that. She lied. There is no such warning that I could find on the american academy of pediatrics website. I have never head anyone say that their daughter was sent to a counselor for depression just because they had become sexually active. What is common is for a pediatrician to counsel the sexually active teen on birth control options and STI's. That's it. The only thing I could find that she might be referring to with her assertion that sexual activity leads to depression is this: link-between-sexual-promiscuity-and-depression-in-teens Notice it is sexual promiscuity, multiple casual sex partners, not simply being sexually active. The lowest rates of depression are found in abstinent teens, that is true and why abstinence in teens is the gold standard used. However as those of us who have been in relationships can attest, if you break up with or have difficulties in your current romantic relationship, you may go through short periods of depression. That's not abnormal, it's normal. Its also part of growing up. Also, notice how she only mentions that if it is girls coming in, they need counseling. There is no mention of boys needing counselling. Again, a prime example of girls being at fault or damaged by simply having sex.

So now, on to "prosti-tots". No, I didn't make that up. Here she is talking about how important it is to talk to your kids about sex, which I agree, it is important.

Hayley: But, Dennis, the important thing is it's more than just "the talk." I think it has to 

start as soon as they're old enough to understand that their body is different—even that 

it's separate from the mom—you know, that when they're starting to pick out their own 

styles and their own fashions. If we don't start to talk about what little girls' bodies do—

you see a lot of little girls that—well, what we call them is "prosti-tots." They're dressing 

them very sexually because: “Well, they're little girls. They can wear little miniskirts and 

little tank tops.” That is just starting the conversation, silently—that this is okay and that 

you can use your sexuality to attract people. 

Oh those little tramps, those little prosti-tots, using their sexuality to attract people.

Oh, so sexy? At least the little tramp in the top has a sweater on to hide those sinful, lust inspiring shoulders, but my eyes! Agog are my eyes are at her knees! No, no knees on a little girl! She is using her sexuality to attract me, sinful child! Look at what they are using their bodies to do!

Obviously, I am joking. No sane person looks at a toddler in any state of dress and thinks about them sexually. This overt blaming of women, from toddler years and beyond, for anyone having sexual thoughts about them, is pervasive within the church and needs to stop. If you look at any toddler wearing a short skirt or tank top and think that they are sinful or trying to sexually attract you, you need to seriously examine your own heart and mind. Now just scroll back up and enjoy how absolutely adorable, gorgeous, and innocent those little darlings are!

However, it's ok for the author to violate her own sense of modesty for the sake of selling a book! Oh yay, I love loopholes like that! What's good for you doesn't apply to me!

Bob: Okay, I have to stop you right here because I'm looking at the cover of Technical 

Virgin. 

Hayley: Yes.   

Bob: This is somewhat provocative right here; right? 

Hayley: Well, one might say—that one and Sexy Girls as well. 

Dennis: No, no, no, no: “one might say”—one would say. [Laughter] I mean, it's the way 

they dress today. 

Hayley: It is the way they dress today. That's the reason all the covers that you'll see 

coming out of Hungry Planet are designed so that the girl—that's dressing like that—will 

pick it up and say, "Oh, that's a cute top." 

Bob: You're being intentionally provocative with this. 

Hayley: That's exactly right. I want them to read these books. There are a lot of books 

out there on immodesty and sexual purity—that are being bought by parents with good 

intentions—they bring them home / they give them to their kids. I talk to those kids—

those books are under their bed. They're not being opened because they look like 

parental propaganda. 

Our books don't look like parental propaganda. They look like something they might, 

you know, see at one of the stores where they shop. We want to make sure that we 

connect with the teenagers so they'll read it because, if they don't read it, they're not 

going to get the message.

Alright, so their books don't "look like parental propaganda". And yet, they are. So, again it's ok to be dishonest? I must also be missing something because I don't see the provocativeness in this cover.I suppose it's the inch of abdomen that is showing? So I looked up Sexy Girls, the other book she wrote and references.

This one is more provocative because there is more flesh showing, but hey, that's ok because Mrs. DiMarco needs to sell her book and tell you what a tramp the girl on the cover is!

The conversation goes on, with the quote from the beginning about what her definition of virginity is. Then, it takes this turn...

Hayley: I want them to understand God's Word, when it comes to sexuality and sin. 

Jesus tells us that if a man even thinks about a woman lustfully, he's already committed 

adultery with her. Okay, so what responsibility does the girl have in that problem—in 

that temptation?  

I think that—when you have a boyfriend and you are fooling around with him—if you're 

doing something that's causing him to think about sex—which, keep in mind, that boys 

think differently—and this is what I'd want her to know. This is, obviously, still, a very 

long conversation—that she has to understand that guys think differently and they're 

very sexual beings.  

Bob: Yes.  

Hayley: So their minds—even if they see skin—their minds can immediately go to 

sex—but if you're fooling around with them, that is preparation for sexuality—which 

means that he, in his mind, could be, potentially, having sex. I would want her to back it 

up and really realize that it starts in your mind. 

Here's the scriptures that she is referencing: Matthew 5:27-30 27 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ 28 But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. 29 If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. 30 And if your right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell. Notice this, there is no blame put on the woman for the man's thoughts in this passage. Also, it says adultery, which is to tell us that this man is looking at someone's wife and lusting after her. We can presume that the woman in this fictitious scenario is married because of that word alone. And, if the man has these thoughts, he is to make changes (extreme changes granted, and please don't go gouging your eyes out fellas) to keep himself from sinning. See, he has to make the changes, not the woman.

The other difficulty I have with the above conversation is the presumption that if boys see skin, their minds immediately go to sex. That's just not true either and is highly insulting to boys and men. Yes, men are wired differently and they are very visual creatures, but that does not mean that the instant that they see skin they are thinking of sex. The other thing that she says is that in his mind he is potentially having sex with the girl if they are fooling around. That could be, or it could not be. No matter if it is or isn't true, he isn't actually having sex with her and the girl is not responsible for his thought life, that's on him.

Next topic, Danger signs!

Hayley: ...But almost every day, when I get dressed, I say: "Okay, can you see anything? Is there 

anything that is a danger sign?"  

You know, just a little example—when your top is a little bit low—where you can't see 

any cleavage but, when you bend over, you can see something—I discovered 

something that's fantastic—toupee tape.  

Bob: Oh, really?  

Hayley: Yes, you just stick it on the back of your t-shirt or your tank top—stick it to 

yourself—then, when you bend over—nothing.  

Bob: Now, you know, some people will hear that; and they'll go, "Okay, you're just 

psycho on this deal"; right?  

Hayley: They might do that; but, Michael, you might—all of you can probably speak to 

what a stolen glance can do to a man.  

Bob: That's the point. I don't think you're psycho. I wish more people would get psycho; 

you know? [Laughter] 

Lovely, Bob wants us ladies to be more "psycho" to prevent him and other men from having "stolen glances". If she wants to go to such lengths to protect the rest of us from the danger that is her cleavage more power to her, however, I find it incredibly sad that she takes on the sole responsibility for how men perceive her. 

Hayley: Right, yes. Well, you know, we have a tendency to be very self-absorbed: 

"Well, I want to wear this. This is cool," or I mean, you know, “…not so hot. I'm 

comfortable.” We spend so much time thinking about ourselves—we think, "Well, men 

should just be able to control themselves. That is ungodly.” 

We are not called to just be self-focused, but to care more about the sin that we could 

be imposing upon our brothers. God’s Word says everything is permissible, but not 

everything is beneficial. 

Bob: Right.

Hayley: If what you’re doing is not benefiting others, then you might even be able to 

take the leap and say it’s sinful.

No, I am not able to make that leap. That isn't Biblical and it's more than a little bit ridiculous. What I do agree with is that, on the whole, we should not be so self absorbed. In fact, don't be so self absorbed that you believe that your body holds this amount of power over another human being. That's rank with pride.

Hayley:...the trouble is—every guy—cute and gross, from 13 to 80—is looking at you and

having fantasies, potentially, about you. Your grandfather and all his friends might be 

just checking out your chest—it's not just the young guy. When you start to think about 

all those "Ooooh" moments, it really helps you understand, "Oh, I don't want anybody 

thinking about that."

So here we are again, blaming the girl's way of dressing as making her a sexual target and painting all men as potential perverts. This is a part of rape culture that is so pervasive in the church. Every guy is painted as an oogling perv. Every guy, even your grandfather and all of his friends are potentially checking out your chest. But it's all the girl's responsibility, she has to dress more modestly. How does she come to this conclusion? A bit earlier she made mention of when she was first a young, on fire for God Christian, and another younger woman came up to her and showed her Ephesians 5:3 "But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality..." and helped her to dress more appropriately so that she would not be a temptation for others. I can't tell you how sad that makes me that another woman heaped shame upon her, making her think that how she dressed would show a hint of sexual immorality. 

We need to change this way of thinking, we have to speak out on this, and tell our girls that they are not responsible for how men think. Men are responsible for how they think. Teach your sons to respect women, to not see them as sexual objects, regardless of how they dress or don't dress. A girl's worth is in her heart, in how she treats her fellow man (and woman), not in whether or not she bares some cleavage or shows her legs above her knees. 

It's ok to acknowledge that straight boys are visual and appreciate a woman's beauty, curves, and the female form and not make it out to be a sinful thing. It can be ok to acknowledge that girls have curves, beauty, and that they will be sexually attractive to others without being afraid of that. These are the things that we should be teaching our children, ideas that are empowering for both genders. Stop the shame, stop the blame.