Silenced Behind the Silence

By Carla J. Frye

The newscaster said one in ten children will be sexually abused before they are eleven.

They also said that ninety percent of all child sexual abuse victims know their abusers. One in seven incidents of child sexual abuse perpetrated by juveniles occurs on school days. Of the children that are sexually abused twenty percent are abused before the age of eight. Sixty percent of children that are sexually
abused are abused by someone they hang out with. How many of these do you relate to? It was four for me.
The statistics for child sexual abuse are quite astounding. I am sure the numbers are higher because most don’t speak up or report anything. I didn’t,
and chances are, you haven’t either. Scandal after scandal, arrests of teachers and police officers, corporate leaders, priests, and athletic directors alike, who
have in common the awesome task of caring for and protecting adults and children. Yet, they have been the ones that have been abusing us. We have remained silent because we were told that “whatever happens in this house stays in this house.” The ‘village’ that was expected to assist in nurturing us and helping us to grow to and through our awkward stages, was abusing us.

The ‘village’ had carte blanche to do all that they wanted to us because we could not speak out, because there was no one to tell. Who would have believed us
anyway? No one, not even our parents. My journey may be unusual only because you really don’t hear about many African American women or men coming out to say they’ve been sexually abused. You may find many similarities to your own story, because like me, you may have suffered abuse from a family member/s and others that said they loved you, and you gravitated towards them for one reason or another. Please don’t allow your destiny to get lost in the mix. Stand up. Open your mouth. Take charge of your life. Let us be “Silent No More.”

Speak your Truth. It will make you free.
I was a victim of sexual abuse. I was gang-raped. I attempted suicide on a number of occasions. I am a survivor. I am victorious. I am a legend-maker,
and an entrepreneur. I will remain silent no more.

I am FREE FREE!

My desire is to remind you that you are not alone. It is my prayer that you seek help so you can begin to be your best for yourself and for your family. You
deserve peace of mind and to never live in fear or uncertainty. You may have been shattered, but there is restoration and hope waiting for you. I believe in
you. Now, it’s time for you to begin to believe in yourself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carla J. Frye
• Release date: Jul 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463942307

Carla J. Frye

Carla J. Frye is a survivor of sexual abuse. She is a mother, a social worker, a CEO, and an entrepreneur. She is the CEO of Stella’s Hope, an organization that helps women coming from the penal system to transition back into the community and to their children. She is currently working on a second novel. As a licensed evangelist, and motivational speaker with Shattered Yet Restored, she strives to empower others to reach inside themselves to discover and know who they are while peeling back layers of hurt and pain.

Book preview

This book is dedicated to my two beautiful daughters. To have endured what you did not ask for nor deserve, and still have a love for me, is absolutely amazing and wonderful. Thank you for your forgiveness. Momma loves you both unconditionally and I thank you for not giving up on me, or us.

Secondly, this book is dedicated to all of those who have suffered child sexual abuse. We are no longer victims but survivors, and we determine our destiny: today and forever. We have maintained our silence for many reasons: we didn’t want to tell, they told us we better not tell, we wanted to tell but we knew no one would believe us, or we were so traumatized, we suppressed the assault only to perpetrate life living a lie. Thank you for allowing me to be your voice. I promise that your voices will be heard everywhere I go.

To Vaedra Olivia Nicole Jones, thank you for helping me to see what was in me…I am a writer.

Thank you, Daddy, Carl Frye, for believing in me and for teaching me life stuff when there was very little life left in me. You have given me your legacy of wisdom that I am able to share with my children, grandchildren and the world. We call that Precise-Alutely: (Precise and Absolute).

To my church family New Dimensions Full Gospel Ministries, I love you and I thank you for loving and embracing me. To my Pastor, Elder Rasonia Herring, God knew what He was doing when He allowed me to sit under your tutelage. I give God all of the glory for He has done a wonderful thing. Thank you, Momma, for your love, chastisement, understanding, and for helping me to soar out of the nest. Thank you for helping me to understand my gifts. Thank you for your teachings, the study lessons, and for pushing me to do and be better. Thank you for your consistent, constant prayers and for staying in the face of God on my behalf.

I will ASCEND!

Foreword

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is upon me,

for the LORD has anointed me

to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted

and to proclaim that captives will be released

and prisoners will be freed.

He has sent me to tell those who mourn

that the time of the LORD’s favor has come,

and with it, the day of God’s anger against their enemies.

To all who mourn in Israel,

he will give a crown of beauty for ashes,

a joyous blessing instead of mourning,

festive praise instead of despair.

In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks

that the LORD has planted for his own glory.

They will rebuild the ancient ruins,

repairing cities destroyed long ago.

They will revive them,

though they have been deserted for many generations.

Isaiah 61:1-4 (New Living Translation)

God’s desire is that we be healed. Being a loving God, His desire for us goes beyond our healing. God has an exchange system. He wants to exchange our ashes for a life filled with beauty. However, we must be willing to separate from our ashes. God’s currency has much more value than what we must give Him in exchange. If we are willing to separate from our pain, God has promised us joyous blessings and festive praise.

He said we would be as great oaks, strong and stable. He will rebuild those areas in our lives that have been torn down or destroyed by tragedy and pain. God will give us life again. Wouldn’t you prefer to live without the residue of past hurts? Beloved, as you delve into the pages of this book, venture into the chapters of your own life and remember the days of God’s glory in your life. Remember that He kept you. Remember that God will always be faithful to you. You will never be on the other side of God’s exchange if you do not take the first step of recognizing that there are ashes in your life.

You can be beautiful again.

Rasonia Herring,

Senior Pastor, New Dimensions Full Gospel Ministries,

Pittsburgh, PA

Introduction

The newscaster said one in ten children will be sexually abused before they are eleven.

They also said that ninety percent of all child sexual abuse victims know their abusers. One in seven incidents of child sexual abuse perpetrated by juveniles occurs on school days. Of the children that are sexually abused twenty percent are abused before the age of eight. Sixty percent of children that are sexually abused are abused by someone they hang out with.

How many of these do you relate to? It was four for me.

The statistics for child sexual abuse are quite astounding. I am sure the numbers are higher because most don’t speak up or report anything. I didn’t, and chances are, you haven’t either. Scandal after scandal, arrests of teachers and police officers, corporate leaders, priests, and athletic directors alike, who have in common the awesome task of caring for and protecting adults and children. Yet, they have been the ones that have been abusing us. We have remained silent because we were told that whatever happens in this house stays in this house. The ‘village’ that was expected to assist in nurturing us and helping us to grow to and through our awkward stages, was abusing us. The ‘village’ had carte blanche to do all that they wanted to us because we could not speak out, because there was no one to tell. Who would have believed us anyway? No one, not even our parents.

My journey may be unusual only because you really don’t hear about many African American women or men coming out to say they’ve been sexually abused. You may find many similarities to your own story, because like me, you may have suffered abuse from a family member/s and others that said they loved you, and you gravitated towards them for one reason or another. Please don’t allow your destiny to get lost in the mix. Stand up. Open your mouth. Take charge of your life. Let us be Silent No More.

Speak your Truth. It will make you free.

I was a victim of sexual abuse. I was gang-raped. I attempted suicide on numerous occasions. I am a survivor. I am victorious. I am a legend-maker, and an entrepreneur. I will remain silent no more. I am FREE FREE!

My desire is to remind you that you are not alone. It is my prayer that you seek help so you can begin to be your best for yourself and for your family. You deserve peace of mind and to never live in fear or uncertainty. You may have been shattered, but there is restoration and hope waiting for you. I believe in you. Now, it’s time for you to begin to believe in yourself.

1. NOT ME

I was twenty-eight years old with a family: two beautiful daughters, Danielle and Layna, ages eight and two, and a wonderful husband, Jason. We lived in a two-bedroom, bath and a half townhouse in a pretty decent subdivision. We researched the area and decided it would be a nice, quiet place to raise our children, as well as being in a good school district. Condo community living was just a stepping stone to having our dream home: four bedrooms, three bathrooms, room for my hats, shoes, purses, and sewing. Of course, there would be a man cave for hubby and a big yard for the children to play in, along with a dog or two. Finally, the children would have their own rooms, which they were looking forward to most of all.

My day had started as usual with a shower, laundry, breakfast, and straightening up. The children were either in school or daycare. And, like other children, getting them up in the morning was sometimes a chore, yet not as arduous as it could have been if food weren’t in the equation. That day, waffles were on the menu, but it was still a struggle to get them out of bed. I don’t know why they enjoyed waffles so much, but I would’ve done most anything for them and if making waffles made them happy, then waffles it would be.

I kissed Jason goodbye and rushed to finish my chores, get everyone dressed, fed, and on our way. I didn’t have to do much straightening up since Jason stayed up late working on a paper and decided to clean up before climbing into bed. He knew I needed my beauty rest. Jason was what my granny called a tall drink of water although, in reality, he was only five foot seven and a bit overweight. Granny still loved him. He walked as if he were ten feet tall and without a care in the world. His short haircut was well-groomed, with the help of a standing weekly barber appointment. His nails and feet were done more often than mine.

His sideburns were linked with his goatee and his mustache was of medium thickness, and it tickled when he kissed me, and the girls. He worked very hard every day, sometimes pulling double shifts without warning. I never understood how a man could work as hard as my husband did and come home smelling almost like he just left for work, with a hint of muskiness. He would walk through the door and, no matter how tired he was he had a smile on his face and a special twinkle in his eye for me. He said it was because I was his girl. I’ll take that, for sure. He groomed himself like he did, not because he was stuck up or conceited, but because he believed he and his family should look their best whenever possible. He didn’t like dirt and grease under his nails, and he certainly wasn’t going to have a hair out of place. Neither did the kids. He was provider and protector to his family. He truly loved us, and we loved him. He was the kind of man most women would dream about, and I was blessed we’d chosen each other.

Jason was not the children’s biological father. He was a great father, but of course, as parents, we all fall short from time to time. My daughter Danielle wanted to call him Dad, but because she had a relationship with her biological father, Jason was not comfortable with her calling him Dad. That caused a bit of a strain in their relationship and in our marriage. However, we counted each day as a blessing that we were a family and we vowed to work through it.

Layna was a different story. Her father did not want her. He was not in town, so all she knew was Jason from the time she was six months old. So, of course, calling him Daddy was all she knew to do. Despite all the different personalities in our home, we did pretty well. Jason and I had good jobs, the bills were paid, and the kids were pretty happy and content. As I said before, we were a normal family.

I rushed to drop off everyone so I could be on time for work. Layna was doing her usual; clinging to me, screaming for me not to leave her. Every day, she did the same thing and every day, I felt like I was abandoning her. It was not until she saw the daycare worker and one of her little friends that she calmed down and moved towards them. Oh, my Lord, that just does something to me, having to leave her there. I wished I could have worked from home or have been wealthy enough to not have to work at all. In retrospect, I think I would have liked being a stay-at-home mom. Okay, no more daydreaming. So I’m off to work craving coffee, a bagel, and a nap.

As I pulled up into my jobs parking lot, I noticed the red brick and drab surroundings of the building. No plants or flowers. It was just a plain, red brick building surrounded by old, dingy broken-down concrete. It was dreary outside, and as I walked inside, I saw nothing but the same dreariness. Large photos of dead men lined the stark white walls with all but one being deceased. The president of the United States, George H. Bush was still alive and well and his picture was large, live, and in color. The receptionist, Karen, greeted me with a hearty Praise the Lord and a toothy smile that was sure to give the sunshine a run for its money. She brightened my day as she always had.

Karen and I attended the same church. I helped her get that receptionist position, which turned out to be just perfect for her. After I exchanged pleasantries with Karen, I walked to my office, dropped my purse and bags on my desk, then headed to the conference room for our mandatory in-service meeting and breakfast. Therapists, doctors, administration, and facilitators alike, had one thing in mind as we headed toward the conference room—the coffee and bagel table. With our goodies in hand, we stood around catching up on last evening’s family events and today’s great expectations.

As I searched for an open seat, a sudden, cold chill slithered down my spine. It felt like a tiny shard of ice traveled from my neck to my behind. I looked around, thinking someone was close to me. No one was there. In my nervousness, my eyes quickly scanned the room for any suspicious movement and unfamiliar faces. While my search came up negative, I did notice, as if for the first time, that the walls and photos were the same as those in the entryway.

Like everywhere