Oral History Interviews of Therapists, Survivors, the Accused, and Retractors. Also available in print in

Chapter 2a: The Survivors

What seems to Be, Is, To those to whom
It seems to Be, & is productive of the most dreadful
Consequences . . . even of
Torments, Despair, Eternal Death.

—William Blake ⁶

First she sees her hypnotist,
Then she rushes to her psychiatrist,
Sees her acupuncturist,
You know she's got to, got to get fixed.

—Carly Simon, “Floundering”

Interviews in this chapter:
Virginia Hudson, incest survivor (letter)

Anne Somerville, incest survivor
Susan Ramsey, incest survivor
Diane Schultz, incest survivor
Frieda Maybry, ritual-abuse survivor

Philippa Lawrence, incest survivor/therapist
Patricia Delaney, survivor and lawyer
Angela Bergeron, multiple-personality survivor
Elaine Pirelli, survivor who remembers being impregnated
Melinda Couture, sexual-abuse survivor and wife of accused father
Sally Hampshire, incest survivor who has always remembered

When listening to self-described sex abuse survivors, it was difficult to distinguish fact from fiction, real memories from illusions. Generally speaking, I believed people when they told me about abuse they had always remembered, while I doubted memories of long-term abuse that had been “recovered” many years later. Consequently, I suspected that Sally Hampshire's account of incest, the last one in this chapter, was accurate. I also thought that Elaine Pirelli's older half-brother really did molest her.

One of these stories illustrates the difficulty of defining “repression.” There are gray areas, such as Melinda Couture's explanation of how she suddenly recalled her brother-in-law's attempt to feel her breasts when she was 12. This is the sort of one-time event that can indeed be forgotten and then remembered, a process far different from “massive repression.”  It is not necessary to call it "repression" at all, since it is more of an example of normal forgetting and remembering.

In my opinion, most of the other “memories” recounted here are probably well-rehearsed confabulations, though that does not diminish the pain they represented.^

Even when Susan Ramsey, the first person interviewed in this chapter, said that she always knew that her father was an alcoholic, a “nasty, mean, cruel drunk,”I wasn’t sure how much credence to give her words. He probably really did drink too much, and I suspect that he was a far-from-perfect parent. But when pressed to describe the verbal abuse he heaped on her, she said that he called her a “lazy no-good young-'un,” well within the realm of things that a parent might blurt out in a moment of exasperation. She also fondly recalled sitting on his lap listening to the radio, or him comforting her when she was sick. Consequently, readers should bear in mind that extremely negative versions of the past may be exaggerated by current attitudes.^ Of course, not all Survivors had happy or normal childhoods. Few people would describe their early years in such terms without qualification. But troubled childhoods do not necessarily stem from years of hidden incest.

Assuming that the recovered memories of abuse were illusory, how did they come about? Who was to blame? Were therapists primarily responsible for leading people to believe in fictional incest? I would answer with a qualified yes, though there was a mutual influence here, embedded in a cultural context that encouraged the hunt for repressed memories. Without therapists “validating” and encouraging belief, most of those speaking here would not have visualized sexual abuse. Susan Ramsey expressed grave doubts about her memories, but her therapist convinced her that they were essentially true, and that he had not led her in any way. Similarly, Diane Schultz relied on her counselor, though she secretly worried that she may have been brainwashed. Frieda Maybry prided herself on seeking only peer “co-counselors,” but they served the same function as a therapist.

The dependency that many of these women exhibited toward their therapists was intense, and the professionals often appeared to encourage it. “If Hugh moved away right now, I'd be dead,” Angela Bergeron asserted, while Susan Ramsey admitted that she was extremely dependent on Randall Cummings and wished for a sexual relationship with him. On the other hand, most of the self-identified survivors seemed to take some comfort in their victimhood in a process psychologists term “secondary gain.” Being a Survivor made them feel special, brought them sympathy and attention, and explained all of their problems. They didn’t have to worry about failed marriages or relationships, which weren’t their fault. They were irretrievably wounded as children and could not function properly as a result.

Some women had recovered their “memories” without the help of a therapist at all. Even if they had never read a book on the subject or gone to therapy, by the early 1990s, virtually every woman in our society with a problem had at least briefly pondered, “I wonder whether this problem stems from repressed memories of sexual abuse?” All too many then sought out The Courage to Heal or another similar book. Only then did they enter therapy, having already “remembered” abuse, or demanding to retrieve memories. Such Survivors were then convinced that they were never led into such beliefs, and that their memories must therefore be accurate.

The memory-retrieval process also provides drama, mystery, and excitement, as quotes from The Courage to Heal make abundantly clear. One woman in the book realized that she was“addicted to my own sense of drama and adrenaline.” Another said, “Whenever my life would calm down, I would start wishing for something major to happen so I could feel at home.”^78 Consequently, Survivors must take a share of responsibility for their mistaken beliefs. So must the authors of recovery self-help books, as well as support-group members who egg one another on. “I am addicted to groups,” one Survivor admitted in The Courage to Heal. “I am a sponge. Put me somewhere where people are nice to me, and I'll learn their whole scene.”⁹ Or, as Diane Schultz, in her interview here observed of members of her Survivor group: “They believed me more than I believed me.”

Did those who eventually recalled memories have anything in common? Yes. They were all experiencing stress and uncertainty in their lives, or they wouldn't have sought therapy. Many women felt trapped by motherhood or marriage. Some sought therapy in the wake of postpartum depression or miscarriages. Others struggled with the transition from adolescence to adulthood. Aside from approaching a vulnerable point in their lives, however, they did not necessarily have much in common, other than a therapist with a particular mindset, or simply being a self-doubting woman at a particular time in history.

The median age of women recovering “memories” appeared to be around the age of 30, though the age range widened as recovered-memory therapy and books espousing it became more popular. Girls as young as 12 were recovering memories. Even preschoolers were told by therapists that they must have repressed memories of sexual abuse. At the same time, some therapists were recruiting in nursing homes. One 1994 article advised that “psychologically fragile” elderly women, particularly widows, should be helped to recall the incest of their youth. Another MPD specialist agreed, but he warned against doing abreactive work with octogenarians. “One of my multiples had a stroke during an abreaction.”¹⁰

While there was no necessary common thread among Survivors, there were several interesting subsets. A number of accusers were very suggestible and hypnotizable. Many such Survivors were also quite dramatic, creative, and imaginative.“I can work myself into a state of sobbing over something in a fantasy,” one Survivor acknowledged in The Courage to Heal.¹¹ They played roles well, consciously or otherwise. A surprising number were either professional or amateur actors. Many Survivors had always read mystery, fantasy, or horror stories. They enjoyed solving puzzles or envisioning other worlds and possibilities. Often, they sang professionally or exhibited artistic talent.

Many Survivors also seemed to be among the helpers of the world, easily empathizing with those who suffer. They often entered the helping professions, becoming teachers, nurses, or counselors.

A majority who came to believe in their “recovered memories” were high achievers who did quite well in school and might have advanced degrees. Just as they were good students in school, they made excellent therapy clients, dutifully reading recovery books, filling out workbooks, and performing other homework assignments.

Other Survivors were probably too close to their parents. While their friends rebelled as teenagers, they continued to consider their parents to be best friends. These overly dependent adult children, who had difficulty individuating from their parents, often had a love/hate relationship with them. They longed to break away, but couldn’t seem to do it. The incest memories allowed them to do so, but they did not really stand on their own. Instead, they transferred their dependence to their therapists. Psychiatrist George Ganaway spoke of such a case: “An unmarried 25-year-old woman . . . has unresolved early separation and individuation conflicts with her parents, leaving her with a feeling of hostile dependence on them.” Although she was a high achiever, she had a “constant need for approval and validation from others.” The therapist became a substitute parental figure, “all-accepting, all-believing and all-approving.”^1213

Another subset consisted of “lifers” who had bounced from one diagnosis, therapist, or movement to another for most of their lives. “I've been mentally disturbed all my life,” one such woman told Ellen Bass.¹⁴ Many of them had always suffered from assorted mysterious bodily ailments.^15 Adopting the Survivor persona was simply the latest in a series of explanations for these maladies.

Finally, and perhaps most tragic, there were undoubtedly those who had real disorders such as manic-depression (bipolar disorder), anxiety disorders, obsessive-compulsive disorder, clinical depression, or epilepsy that went undiagnosed. Indeed, the conditions were exacerbated by the acting out that was demanded by the Survivor role.

I cannot overemphasize the strong motivation that impelled people to discover hidden memories, once the idea was planted. They yearned for an explanation for their current despair, and they became dogged in their pursuit of the mystery. “My therapist told me to read The Courage to Heal,” one woman told me. “I opened the book to the first page, and three hours later, I looked up, sobbing. I was totally consumed by this book. I couldn't read enough, find out enough, couldn't let it go. Everything was leading me down this road. My therapists weren't necessarily saying 'Confront your parents,' but society and books and my need to be healthy were driving me. I was absolutely driven.”

Once someone was sucked into the recovered memory vortex, it was clearly difficult to get out. “There is an identity in being a committed survivor of sexual abuse,” Bass and Davis accurately observed in The Courage to Heal. “It can be hard to give up.”¹⁶ More and more memories surfaced, along with diverse perpetrators. Once a confrontation took place, it was hard to back away. Besides, admitting you were wrong would involve losing all your new friends and your all-important therapist. The shame and guilt from admitting false accusations would be overwhelming. Also, people have an innate resistance to cutting their losses, once they've made a major investment. “The memories might not be totally accurate,” Diane Schultz allowed in her interview here, “but what purpose would it serve me to spend so much time, energy, and money to blame my father for something he didn't do?” Therefore, according to this circular logic, he must have committed incest on her.

It seems painfully obvious in some cases that these “memories” did not seem real, even to those who remembered them. One woman I interviewed (not included here) had never managed to retrieve any memories, though she was still sure she was a Survivor. Another strove in vain to recall real incest, but settled for memories of emotional incest. “I've concluded that you never overtly molested me,” she told her father, “but you did violate some very important boundaries. You hugged me too long, looked at me too fondly.” I suspect that this nagging uncertainty may be what prevented some children from directly accusing their parents or telling them precisely what they were supposed to have done.

The saddest feature of the “therapeutic” process is the frightful amount of pain it unnecessarily inflicted upon unwary clients. They often went through awful depressions, suicide attempts, and hospitalizations. They lost their families, their jobs, their relationships. Yet somehow, they convinced themselves that they were getting better. Relatively speaking, over the short term, they eventually did get better. Few people can keep themselves in such a state of turmoil indefinitely, and when Survivors adjusted to their new status and began to feel relatively calm, they often perceived that they had made great strides. Compared to how they functioned when entering therapy, however, most were worse off.

There were undoubtedly those who genuinely benefited from recovered-memory therapy. Their long-term depression lifted. They felt energized. They were able to enjoy sex. They felt renewed purpose in life and enjoyed the righteous anger of the Survivor. Because they felt better having an explanation for all their previous troubles, they were sure that their memories must have been accurate. Why else would they have improved? The answer is that any explanation for life's troubles can have a placebo effect. Unfortunately, their newfound purpose came at the expense of grieving families, devastated by false accusations. And, however fulfilling their lives may have been, they were deprived of the support and comfort of their families.

Virginia Hudson, Incest Survivor

I did not interview Virginia Hudson, 45, a New Jersey preschool teacher. Her 74-year-old father gave me a copy of her 1992 letter to him, which she handed to him in person at a therapy session at a Christian counseling center. (He denied all of the charges and said that, to his knowledge, Virginia never had an abortion as a teenager.) I have reproduced portions of the letter, conveying the flavor of many such messages.
Dear Dad, This is so hard for me to write. Please try to listen to it without attacking what I have written.

In the past, I always thought the world of you, Dad—that's certainly no secret to anyone in our family and I, also, thought I was so precious and special to you. Lately, though, my heart was greatly grieved and saddened when I started remembering what my childhood and relationship with you was really like. Unfortunately, my reality today bears little resemblance to the fantasy I had built in my mind over the years.

The truth is that you were incesting me from infancy through the age of 15. My adoration of you masked my submission to the horrifying events that were happening to me. Your violence toward me was so terrifying that I tried to forget what was going on even as it was happening. It is no wonder that it has taken until this past year to open myself up to remembering these things that happened to me 30 to 40 years ago.

In case your mind has drawn a veil over this span of time, I will try to refresh your memory about those years. When I was an infant, you began violating me by sticking your finger in my vagina. By the time I was three, you were telling me how wonderful I was, how I was Daddy's little girl and how much you loved me. You then claimed to express that love by playing this “game” you called “Doggy.” Doggy was painful, terrorizing and in reality was anal sex. By the time I was five you coerced me into oral sex.

When I was in my early teens, you had intercourse with me. At the age when I should have been rejoicing over my blossoming femininity, I was ashamed of my body, petrified that I was continuing to grow more into a woman (which I thought spelled more abuse) and cursing the fact that I was alive at all. You robbed me of so much of the joy of my femininity.

At 14, you brought me to a doctor to have an abortion. You did not have the decency to tell me why we were going to the doctor. This is the hardest reality for me to accept. What you continued to do to me over the years is despicable, but I have no words for the mourning I have experienced because you took this life being formed in me.

As an adult in Christ, I can now protect and care for myself. You will not violate me again. I will not go back to living a fantasy and a lie and from now on, I am going to continue to speak the truth as best I know it.

What I would like from you, Dad, is an admission of the truth in what I have stated. I want you to ask me to forgive you. I have said all that was in my heart to say. It is now your choice as to what to do with this.

Sincerely,

Virginia

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Anne Somerville, British Incest Survivor

In 1988, when she was 28, Anne Somerville of Dorset in England had terrible headaches -- not terribly surprising, given her stressful life circumstances. Her parents’ marriage had ended in a bitter divorce. She was a nurse in an intensive care unit. She had a two-year-old daughter. “I didn’t know how to love her or give her what she needed. I felt inadequate as a mother.” In addition, she had had a clandestine affair, and her lover died after a long-term hospitalization following a car accident, four months into her pregnancy. Her husband complained that she woke him up by grinding her teeth. Visits to her dentist and doctor failed to help. Then Anne read an ad in the newspaper about Harold Johnson, a local hypnotist who could help with stress and headaches. She made an appointment.
Harold told me what he could do and how. He would sit me in a chair. It was very simple. He would just count down, tell me to relax my limbs and close my eyes. Talking about “hypnotic states” sounds far-fetched, but it’s actually quite natural. You’re well aware of what he says, what you say, and what you’re doing. It doesn’t seem like a big deal. I knew I was hypnotized, though. It did feel different. I was a lot more relaxed, but at the same time I was in full control.

He took me back through my childhood, and certain pictures would appear in my mind. Harold told me that my headaches came from some forgotten childhood trauma. We lock things away, and there’s a lot we don’t remember because it’s too painful.

During the first session, I was around 11, standing on the landing upstairs. It was very, very real, as if I were really there and wasn’t a 28-year-old any more. I felt all the feelings I felt as a child, helpless and frightened. I could hear a belt going back and forth. When my father couldn’t find out what was wrong, he would beat all three of my younger brothers. I wanted to do something to help, but I couldn’t. That’s something I have always remembered. It was very disturbing, though. When I came out of it, I was quite upset. Harold reassured me that it was quite normal and helpful.

During another session, he took me right back to my birth. I found that amazing. The only thing I was aware of was an aura, and I could smell very strong urine, as if I were a baby lying in a pool of urine, an ammonia smell. I don’t know if it was birth or maybe a baby lying in a cot. It seemed very, very real.

I went to nine or ten sessions, but the only other one that sticks in my mind is the ultimate one. He carried on regressing me, saying, “Where are you now?” In my parents’ bedroom. He said, “Have you got any clothes on?” I said, yes, I had my pajamas on. I was able to describe the room exactly, including the position of the furniture. I was about seven. The next minute, he said, “Where are you now?” I said I was on the bed. Suddenly, I was screaming and crying, “No, no, no!” And I just wanted to come out of that session. I could see my father’s face above me. I was lying flat on my back, being held down by him, and his face was on my face.

He said, “Do you want to go on?” And I said, “No.” He brought me back out, and I sobbed for a long time. He asked me about the emotions I felt. He told me to beat a cushion, and I did, though it made me rather self-conscious. Harold stressed to me that I shouldn’t have bad feelings towards my father, because my father didn’t remember either. Harold said that repressed memories were very common. He said one in five women were sexually abused by their fathers.

I didn’t want to find out what happened next, though I did have one last session with Harold’s wife. I didn’t want to have a session with a man again. His wife also did hypnotherapy, but she didn’t get anywhere with me.

I was very upset by all of this. I turned to a brother I was close to, and he said I was lying and that my father wouldn’t have done that sort of thing. I decided not to say anything to my mother. She asked me what was wrong. I just looked at her, and she looked at me, and she said, “My God, what’s he done?” She knew I had a lot of anger at my father. So I told her what I’d seen. A little later, she said, “I could believe he did that to you.” They had been divorced a few years at that point.

I finally confronted my father. I went to see him at his home, in his environment, which was wrong. I was fluttery and stumbly, very nervous and uptight. I wanted to find out, I wanted an answer. I wanted to get back at him and make him pay for what he’d done. I wanted to tape his confession and take him to court and sue him for all he had. Yes, at this point I had read a lot of healing books. They were very helpful.

He said, “What do you want? Spit it out.” I said, “It’s about, about my childhood. It’s about abuse.” He said, “Who told you this?” This was before I told him any details. He just assumed that’s what it was about. I felt that indicated he was guilty. I cut off all contact with him for seven years.

I went to see a psychiatrist a few months after my hypnosis sessions, and the psychiatrist suggested that maybe I hadn’t been raped after all. Perhaps I had only been groomed towards it. So what I remembered in hypnosis was as far as it went. That was a great relief to me in some

ways.

I just got together with my father again last year. We don’t talk about the abuse memories. He didn’t try to approach me directly, but he told my mother he was very upset and wanted to see me. I’m having a much better relationship with him now. I relate better with him than I do with my mother. He’s more steady. My mother can be nice one minute and then angry the next. You see, I love my father very much, even though he was a Jekyll and Hyde. He could be a very charming man. He did have a horrible temper, though, and he would beat my mother. His eyes would glaze over and there was no feeling in them. He never beat me. When I look back on what I discovered in hypnotherapy, I feel he must have felt guilty about the sexual abuse, which is why he did not hit me.

I still think hypnosis can be quite useful. We need to face up and be objective about what happened to us. The actual situation was so real to me, his face above me and the feelings I had. As a child, you don’t have the verbal language, but you know it’s wrong, it’s not a game.

I had a lot of sexual feelings as a child. I wanted to express those feelings with my brothers, and it confused me. When I was eight or so, I played doctor with my brothers. Nobody ever talks about it, but it might not be all that unusual.

There was another situation with my father that felt wrong as well. I went to say good night, and he said, “Give me a kiss.” So I gave him a peck on the cheek. He said, “Give me a proper kiss.” It was the tone, you know. My brothers were around and my mother was in the kitchen, so he couldn’t follow through. I had always remembered that. Once I had the hypnotherapy, it was something I zeroed in on.

I can’t remember if the hypnotherapy made my headaches go away. I still get headaches now, but not as many. I find other ways of controlling my stress. I meditate, and that’s more helpful than anything else.

– • –