The earliest memory I have related to my sexual abuse was when I was 4 or 5 years old. I was sitting in the backseat of the car with my brother who was two years older than I. We were waiting outside my grandparents’ house while my mom ran in for something. I remember feeling like I needed to say something but couldn’t. Finally I said it. One little sentence so that someone else would know. At such a young age I didn’t even realize what it was or if it was even bad… but I knew I should try to find out. I remember my brother’s response (though I doubt he does). He said, “You’re lying! Dad did not do that!” At that moment it seemed like I had my answer. No one would ever believe that my step dad was sexually abusing me. If my brother, my protector, my friend thought I was crazy – certainly no adult would have anything else to say to me.

The next memory I have is when I was in first or second grade. I remember one night he told me to tell him to stop. Apparently my mom was the one to check on me that night because the next morning she commented that I had said, “Dad, don’t!” when she went to move me and cover me up with my blanket. I was asleep; I didn’t remember saying anything nor did I remember my mom coming in to check on me.

The abuse happened anywhere from 0-6 nights per week. When I was 9 years old my parents were late picking me up from the church youth group one night. They were very somber. It was obvious something was wrong. Something very bad had happened. When we got home I was told to come to the living room. I did and they told me. My step dad had confessed to a psychologist friend that he had been sexually abusing me for years (and I had not been his only victim). They said the friend told them he would not call the cops but that he had anyway. They were so angry at the friend for doing that. I was angry at the friend for doing that. I was terrified. I was ashamed. I felt so guilty, like I was bad to my very core. As if I had caused this horrible problem for my family. I hated the idea that someone knew, someone I didn’t even know knew these personal details from my life.

So we waited. I knew it was only a matter of time before the police and CPS (Child Protective Services) would be at our door. I knew what was to come. I knew all about the foster care system. My grandparents did foster care. My next door neighbors did foster care. Shoot, my own parents were currently doing foster care! One night as I waited, my foster sister who had been sexually abused by her dad told me I was lucky. I was lucky because her dad still denied he had ever done anything to her. She admired that my step dad had confessed. She thought highly of him because of this! She, who was also abused, and who was years older than me.

I vaguely recall having to tell the investigators what had happened. I said as little as possible. The shame was so thick I could hardly breathe. I don’t remember them trying to make me feel comfortable; maybe they did, but I don’t remember it. I remember feeling terrified. I remember feeling that if my step dad was made to move out it would be my fault and everyone would know. Our family would be shamed and everyone at our church would know. I was also terrified as to what he might do to me if I said anything. He had said more than once that, “Bill Gothard talks in the Basic Seminar about how a father kept his children from being rebellious by telling them, ‘I brought you into this world and I can take you out.’” I was a child but I wasn’t stupid. I knew what that meant. He would kill me. And I knew full well that he was capable of it. I knew how much evil he had inside of him.

After the investigation CPS made him move out for a few months. He and I both had to have counseling. I remember hating going to counseling. I remember I never said anything except that I was fine. Everything was fine. And then I would proceed to draw the exact same picture every session: a house, with grass and a tree. I always put flowers on the grass, a sun in the sky, and a rainbow. By the time my picture was complete the time was up and I got to leave.

I remember feeling glad that no one knew my step dad had been made to move out. My parents explicitly told me to NEVER tell anyone else about this. Never. It would just hurt my step dad if I did and of course I didn’t want to hurt my step dad, did I?

I don’t remember how long it took for the abuse to start up again after he was allowed to move back in. It wasn’t that long. A few months, maybe? I’d already been told, “Don’t tell. Don’t talk about it,” which just added to the deep shame I felt. I was bad; I had to be because this didn’t happen to my friends, did it?

My parents had attended many Basic and Advanced Seminars in my early childhood years. When they heard that Bill Gothard was starting his own homeschool program, they wanted in. We had already been home schooling for a year in another program through a local Christian school.

My family applied to ATI the first year it began and we were not accepted. I believe the reason was because this was my mom’s second marriage, but it very well may have also been due to the fact that my step father had sexually abused me. I know that my parents wrote about my mom’s prior divorce on the ATI application, as well as the fact that my step dad had sexually abused me. These were things they had to confess/explain in order to be considered for ATI. It was my understanding at that time that Bill Gothard read and reviewed every single application himself, therefore he had at that time been informed that sexual abuse had occurred in our home and he heard it not from me, but from my abuser.

I never actually saw the papers my parents sent in with the application (I was only in 5th grade at the time), but I do know they reported what had happened because they were nervous we wouldn’t get in due to these horrible failures on their part. They were too afraid to lie about it because they were worried ATI would look into things and find that police reports had been filed and that Child Protective Services had stepped in at one point. My parents were eager to be that perfect family and were not willing to separate or divorce over sexual abuse or anything else because they believed that divorce was wrong for any reason. They were happy that Bill Gothard and ATI supported the idea of keeping the family together.

And then somehow, for reasons I’ll never know, we were accepted into ATI as a second-year family. My parents were thrilled!

I do recall the first phone call from our Family Coordinator (though I don’t recall her name) asking my step dad and mom about everything. How some teenage girl was somehow supposed to be able to handle a family with our problems, I do not understand, but that was how things were done in ATI. I remember that the Family Coordinator told my step dad that he needed to become accountable to our pastor for his moral failures. I do remember that my step dad did go to our pastor and he came home from that meeting to let us know that our pastor had told him that he was “too busy to take that on.”

As far as I know, nothing else was ever said to my parents by anyone with ATI about this issue. No one ever checked in to find out if he had followed through on finding accountability. No one ever asked them or me if the abuse was ongoing, or if it had started up again, or if it had even occurred once since the police reports were filed. Had they asked, they may have found out that the abuse was indeed ongoing. No one ever called to report that abuse had occurred, because if they had the cops would have been at our door (again). No one ever called to ask me if I was okay or if I felt safe.

I have to admit that another thing that never made sense to me in ATI was the whole umbrella deal. How on God’s amazing earth was my step dad, who sexually abused me several nights a week, supposed to be God’s Best for me? I knew my God did not think sexual abuse of a child was the right or good thing. I could not accept that. I could not accept what I was taught–that because he was my father figure, my one authority figure, what he said, did, and wanted was God’s Will. There was just no way. But I tried to look past that. I figured I was the only ATI student who was sexually abused anyway, and therefore this teaching wasn’t bad… it was just bad in my home, right? I know now how wrong I was about that. I’ve been horrified to learn how rampant sexual abuse was in other ATI families. Many with much more harrowing stories than mine.

And so the abuse continued. Always at night, after bedtime. Always when I was asleep. I tried different tactics to keep him away from me. Sometimes they worked, but usually they didn’t. At the age of 16 I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew at this point it had to stop. I knew I did not have it in me to talk about it. I knew I could never bring it up and tell someone what was still happening to me. I was so scared and so ashamed. Ashamed because I was being sexually abused, sexually used, and ashamed because I was not a young child anymore–I was 16 years old! 16 years of age is plenty old enough to stop it myself! But I just couldn’t. I felt sick inside. I got to the point where I figured I would just scream and wake everyone up. I thought about bringing a knife into my bed with me and stabbing him to make him stop. I prayed and prayed. I clearly remember one afternoon praying; stopping only to eat and use the bathroom. It had to stop. I could not go on anymore. I could not take anymore. That night my mom caught him in the act. That night was the last night I was sexually abused by my former step-father. God had saved me when I could not find the strength to save myself.

I remember being called downstairs by my mother. I clearly remember her telling him, “APOLOGIZE!” and then she walked out of the room. I will never forget what he said to me next: “I’m not sorry for what I did, but I am sorry I got caught. You’re still a virgin, you know.” As if somehow I should feel grateful to him for that. I just sat there and said nothing until my mom came back and told me to go to bed.

If you’d asked me a few years ago if I had dealt with my sexual abuse, I would have said yes. I was over it. I was past it. I was okay. In my case the abuse happened prior to and throughout our years in ATI. I do not blame Bill Gothard or ATI for my being sexually abused. It would have happened without them. What I do blame them for is not ever calling to make sure I was okay. Not making sure that my abuser had to face any consequences. Acting like nothing had ever happened and that it was all in the past. Teaching that a woman should never leave or divorce her husband–even if he was sexually abusing her daughter. I never understood how someone who claims to have given his life up for children and for a ministry to children wouldn’t care enough to make a phone call to check in on one of those children. A child whom he knew had been abused because the abuser himself had told him on the application.

I thought I was past it all. But last summer I came across a group of former ATI students. For the first time in my life I was shown love, support, acceptance, and grace. Real grace, not the Gothard type–the real deal. Some of them made plans to show up at a Basic Seminar in Texas and pass out letters and business cards to get the word out about Recovering Grace. The reaction I had to that was explosive. I had no idea it would hit me so hard, but I bawled. I cried. The tears would not stop. Hot, stinging tears. It was personal. They were there for me. Finally someone stood up for me. Finally someone stood up and said, “This system is broken. It isn’t right. It’s not okay.” Feeling that kind of support and validation has brought what I can now call healing. Thank you, my fellow former ATI students. It is because of you I feel I am now fully living my life. It is with thanks to you that I feel joy, peace, love, and grace.