06.15.12 Truth & Wisdom

Healing the Wounds of Incest: Part Two

Healing the Wounds of Incest: Part Two

BY Jincey Lumpkin, Esq

F**k Father’s Day.

I’ve been feeling out of sorts, and I realized it is because this week is the 11th anniversary of my Dad’s death. He died on a Wednesday, we buried him on Friday and that Sunday was Father’s Day.

My father was a charming and charismatic man. He was the mayor of my hometown in the 1970s. The Optimist Club even awarded him the lauded title of “Man of the Year”. He was so loved, in fact, that we had to schedule visitation with his body on two consecutive nights at the funeral home, so our friends and neighbors would have enough time to come and say goodbye.

My mother fell completely apart when he died, and when she went to pieces, the life that I had known began to break away as well.

Every Christmas we sent out a family card with our picture on it: The Famous Lumpkins. Five smiling faces. No one knew the deep river of sorrow that my pretty smile covered up.

When I was growing up, I felt a horrible, almost unbearable need to make my parents understand how much I loved them. Along with that pressure was a feeling of guilt — a sense that I would have to equally ration my love between my mother and father, so that neither of them felt cheated. The thought that either of them might think for a moment that I didn’t love them would cause a stabbing panic in my heart. I did not realize back then that my overwhelming desire to show them my love was actually a desperate attempt to feel loved by them.

Every year I am dealt a double-whammy: I’m sad because my father is dead and therefore cannot celebrate Father’s Day. Far worse than that is the thought that I shouldn’t be celebrating my father at all, because he sexually abused me.

I still struggle with the concept of my two fathers. Daytime Daddy was a really great guy, funny and kind. After-Midnight Daddy was a looming, sinister shadow figure. It is impossible math to make two become one. Therefore, I have become proficient in Olympic-quality mental gymnastics, which allows me to love Daytime Daddy and despise the “stranger” in my bed.

In my next column, I will bring an expert in to help me better understand why I compartmentalize my feelings for my father, and figure out how to move forward with an integrated portrait of the man.

If you need help with sex abuse, please contact Darkness to Light, an organization with the mission to eliminate childhood sexual abuse. You can find information at D2L.org.

To read Part One of this series, click here.

Featured image by JoiseyShowaa on Flickr

JINCEY LUMPKIN, ESQ. is the founder and Chief Sexy Officer of Juicy Pink Box, the lifestyle brand that entices all women to explore their lesbian fantasies. She is a former lawyer, a married lady and a lover of breasts. Jincey has given lectures at Harvard University and Fordham about creating empowering porn for women. She’s been called a “New York City Sex Icon” and was listed by Out Magazine as one of the 100 most influential gay people in the world. See more about Jincey and Juicy Pink Box on Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr.

Comments

  • CJefferson

    Wow! I thought that the balancing act I had to do with my memories of my father being always there in the home but emotionally distant was tough; thank you for sharing your story, I unfortunately know too many women who have been sexually abused by their fathers, step-fathers or ‘trusted’ family friends…I can only imagine how tough it must be to carry this. I will definitely share the D2L info.

  • GenFoley

    I thank the Lord every day that I managed to escape this in my childhood – I know WAY too many people too 🙁

  • Rameyc

    Thank you so much for sharing. I dont know how to express how much I have needed to read this. It’s comforting to hear my thoughts come from someone else. Thank you for the D2L info, it’s something I am sure I will need.

  • Walter Binns

    Jincey…I know it doesn’t help and is probably inappropriate really, but on behalf of the parents who didn’t protect you…I’m sorry. Sorry is such a weak word, but it’s all we have to salve injuries to the soul, and as a kindred spirit of your injury, I would like to offer congratulations on your amazingness, the bi-product of youthful harm!

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