When Tears Are Not Enough: The Journey Begins: Faith, Hope, Healing, Diane's Memoir

By Liliana R. Christophe

About the Book
When Tears Are Not Enough is about a young girl’s journey from being sexually abused at the age of six, to having her first child at age twelve, and being a mother of five by age twenty-four. After years of manipulation, Diane realizes that she can finally speak up and speak out. An urgent message to anyone out there who feels their voice has been taken from them, Diane finds the ability to not only love herself but forgive those that tried to destroy her sense of self-worth.

About the Author
Liliana R. Christophe was born in Seattle, Washington and raised in Oakland, California. She enjoyed a career with the federal government for thirty-five years. Additionally, she has a passion for community service, feeding the homeless, and volunteering at shelters. Liliana has had her share of trials and great triumphs. She is a cancer survivor and thanks God for His grace and mercy. She also credits her daughter from her first marriage, for giving her the will to press on when life seemed hopeless.
In 2021, Liliana was blessed to marry her high school sweetheart, her true soulmate. Together, Liliana and her husband love to travel the world, attend church, and share the joys and pains of parenting four adult children and the pleasure of five grandchildren. Liliana has a deep faith in God, and it is that faith that has guided her through this journey to write this book for her birth mother, Diane.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Oct 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890275936

Book preview

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The contents of this work, including, but not limited to, the accuracy of events, people, and places depicted; opinions expressed; permission to use previously published materials included; and any advice given or actions advocated are solely the responsibility of the author, who assumes all liability for said work and indemnifies the publisher against any claims stemming from publication of the work.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2023 by Liliana R. Christophe

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.

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November third 1946 was an extremely warm Sunday when a beautiful baby girl was born. The third child born into the family. Full, curly, black locks adorned her head and sweet, almond shaped brown eyes shined brightly. She was a gem, perfect in every way. She was the third of five girls with one boy to follow. As she grew, little on the surface seemed different between her and her sisters. They all wore pigtails, sucked on lollipops, and played with paper dolls. As time passed, she became withdrawn from her sisters, wide-eyed, and sullen. Her smiles turned to sadness, and the tears that fell from her tender eyes were salty reminders of the indignities that were inconceivable. Her childhood vanishing.

Because her tears were not enough to end what was to become her impending duty, she learned early to stay in the shadows of life as she wore the mask of fear, deception, lies, and deep pain all with a smile.

POEM

Dedicated To My Mother and to All Survivors of Abuse

You Have a Voice

Silent Screams

Keep your mouth shut, don’t say a word

Silence so loud, almost absurd

A little girl sits in the darkness, knowing what awaits

When suddenly, the dark cloud approaches

Heavy is her young heart, now shattered into pieces

A constant internal longing, all she wishes is to be protected

Broken again, trust becomes an illusion

Daddy, why am I so neglected

Answers never come; only frightening images remain of what was done

Body so worn; her womb now infected

Not with disease but a life now growing

Evidence of what had happened, she is left feeling dejected

No words did she ever say

Only silent screams, she wished the dark clouds would go away

Her eyes tell a story but no one chooses to listen

Knowing her tears were not enough

She fell into unwanted submission

Mind left in a daze; her innocence forever stolen

It’s not your fault, little girl chosen

Time to shred this tapestry of pain that has been woven

Hold on little girl, you’re stronger and braver than you realize

You are a survivor of darkness which once, you were paralyzed

Little girl now a woman

Open your mouth, let the truth be spoken

Don’t be afraid, for now is your time

Let the chains of a horrid past that once weighed you, forever be broken

The darkness tried to consume you

It wanted to drain and devour your soul

You survived the plague, found your inner strength

Removed the mask of fear that kept you silent

And you opened your mouth and came into the light

Your truth is the beauty that now shines bright

Introduction

Help me. Please, is there anyone out there that can help me? Can’t you see what’s happening to me? I’m only 12 and the year is 1959. You know, a time when a child is seen and not heard, never to question an adult. The results of their actions speak louder than my request. There’s obviously something happening to me, and it started so many years prior. You all see it yet speak no words. I’m drowning in a cycle of drunken desires that have descended upon me like vultures on a dead carcass. Was that the only solution, to be shipped away in the middle of the night, with no idea of the journey ahead? Yes, that was the solution. One or two white lies were possible, but three, no, no it was time to erase this problem for good.

She was sent away from her home of 17 years, with haunting secrets that one day she hoped to reveal.

Her life gave life and began to reveal secrets that her voice was too weak to utter as a child. To be sent away at 17 and pregnant for the third time, they no longer saw her as an innocent child. Oblivious to the actions of the others that were involved, she was condemned and sentenced without a fair trial. Her pregnancies, in their eyes, gave evidence of her actions, and hers alone. They destroyed her ability to see her worth, her own potential; her childhood was stolen just like three of the babies she bore.

The word stolen may sound harsh, but it is how I feel and I have made that known to my third child. I give her my permission to be my voice and tell my story. My story, the way I remember. I know that there will be people that disagree with my recollection of events, and that is okay because I am telling my story through my own eyes and my memories. It is my journey of self-discovery, healing, forgiveness and love. Love for myself and my children. Love for my parents and my sister that sacrificed a lot, selflessly. And finally, love for my abusers because I decided to break free from the mental chains that kept me silent.

Names and some locations of events have been changed for various reasons. Two names, besides mine, remain unchanged as we had an understanding that one day, I would tell my truths and end the silence.

Three, the smallest number needed to create a pattern. Everything that comes in three is perfect. Every set of three is complete. In Latin, it is captured neatly with the phrase, omne trium perfectum.

A definite pattern consists in my life, and it does involve the number three; however, nothing has been remotely close to its Latin meaning: perfection or completeness. The number three is a bonding agent of people, time, and events throughout my life, good and bad.

Events and those memories attached to them. It is very strange how the mind can shift one’s memories. Did things really happen in the way I remembered or can one’s memories be altered by other memories or circumstances over time?

Memories are personal, in that it is an internal signal, our own interpretation of events. It is a storage space that is shared by a multitude of experiences, good and bad, that is constantly shifting over one’s lifetime.

As I’ve matured, these memories started to be compromised or better, analyzed. As a child that experienced sexual abuse, my memories of my abusers kept me in limbo and harboring great anger for most of my life.

As you will see through this journey, my memory of people and events were altered. The true abuser, the one that started it all, planted false information that became false memories for many years. It wasn’t until now, that I have decided to self-reflect, to remove the mask that kept me in bondage and isolated from love, for myself and others. I am now ready to face the greatest memory that is too