Please Let It Be Enough

By Yeshil Kohl

Yeshil Kohl thought she was the only one who suffered from physical, sexual, and psychological abuse by parents and spouses growing up—until she got older.

It was then that she realized that such abuse is an epidemic and that her pain is shared by many who have been shunned and misunderstood by a society that blames victims. This, in turn, makes it more likely for victims to continue to suffer throughout their lives as they take on marital, social, and occupational roles.

In Please Let It Be Enough, she shares how her family often moved around, how physical and psychological abuse turned into something worse after she hit puberty, and how her suffering went so unnoticed by so many for so long.

The author encourages a strong religious foundation but also a psychological understanding of the damage done to self-esteem, in order to alter current behaviors. She also shares a message with fellow sufferers: You are not alone.

People wonder why victims of assault, both physical and sexual, wait to report it, and the answer is they are ashamed, embarrassed, and afraid of how others will respond Maybe, just maybe, this account will encourage them to understand and help.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jan 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781480872752

Yeshil Kohl

Yeshil Kohl is a retired special education teacher with twenty-five years of experience helping abused teenagers. She lives in Oregon.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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Oh, no, she wants me to go with him again!

Oh, please, don’t make me go, as I plead with my mother, and try to get her to understand what my father is going to do to me once we are alone in the car. My mother shoves me away and won’t let me talk. I slowly realize that she knows, she knows, SHE KNOWS……and she wants him to sexually assault me. She just wants us both out of the house, so the young women coming for a shorthand class won’t understand what is going on.

I had just had a severe beating with a broom handle, which left my arm paralyzed and dangling–can’t let anybody see that. My parents’ business school had gone bankrupt, but my mother was still teaching her shorthand class at home. That certainly took priority over any concern for me.

People wonder why victims of assault, both physical and sexual, wait for years to report it. I can tell you why. They are ashamed, embarrassed, afraid of the reaction of others, and they have lived with this for so long that it is a permanent part of them. It is never going away, but something triggers the need to get it off their backs in the vain hope that this will somehow make it go away. Maybe, just maybe, someone will understand and try to help.

Please let it be enough.

CHAPTER TWO

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My parents never wanted children, but I came, anyway. I was born eleven days before Pearl Harbor, so my father (henceforth known as Carter) was drafted. He was sent to Norfolk, Virginia, for naval training. My mother (henceforth known as Ona) decided to go with him. She dumped me off with her parents in Tennessee, where I remained for a full year. I was never told about this stay. I always wondered why I felt so close to Grandpa Duncan, when I had never been around him much. Ona was a hoarder and her house was crammed with furniture, magazines, papers, etc. When I was in my 40’s, I suddenly received a small package from her with an accompanying note that she had been cleaning house (?) The package contained several letters written from Grandma Duncan to Ona talking about me as a toddler, giving a report of how I was doing at their house. I was quoted as saying, My Mommy is coming to get me. I was so shocked by the letter, that I was unable to read any of the other letters and I threw them all away.

A memory came back to me. Carter had been transferred to Seattle and my grandparents had apparently put pressure on Ona to take me with her. Ona was a total stranger to me at that point. We both took a train from Tennessee to Seattle. It was a Pullman on which daytime seats were converted into berths at night, covered with curtains for privacy. For some unknown reason I was placed in an upper berth at one end of the car and my mother was somewhere at the other end. I became frightened and pulled back my curtain, intending to call Ona. Suddenly a large, black porter came in the door and started down the aisle. Having been raised in a segregated South, I had never seen a black person, so I backed off and waited till he was gone. Then I looked out again at that sea of curtains, and knew there was a strong possibility she wouldn’t answer. At the tender age of two, I was faced with the realization that I was totally alone and I was always going to be. I cried myself to sleep.

Please let it be enough.

CHAPTER THREE

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In this book, I made a conscious decision not to describe the sexual assault I endured. The only way I can describe it is to think about it. I don’t WANT to think about it. It’s upsetting enough to be discussing it in general.

There are two reasons why I am writing this book. Firstly, I am hoping it will involve catharsis, though I realize that is a very remote possibility. Secondly, I want to give a message to all my