The super hero complex

Last week, I heard of an activist who passed away. Normally, this sort of news would invoke sadness, but this time it was greeted with a little relief. Sounds weird, right?

It wasn't because the person was ill and finally out of pain; no, it was a lot more sinister.

A twinge of guilt befell me as the thought came to mind. I shouldn't rejoice in someone's death, but honestly, I couldn't help myself.

This person was a broken one. They had been dealt a bitter blow in life; their suffering was immense. But it was the way they denied the pain that got to me.

Every relationship was dealt with through the lens of abuse. They never allowed themselves the latitude to imagine that life could be better. Disease inhabited their body through stress, fibromyalgia, and other stress-related issues. As much as I tried to support and encourage healing, they fought back. "There's nothing wrong with me" would be the answer to every probing query. Every relationship in their lives imploded because of a lack of trust. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and children were all cast into the same category: abusers!

I tried all that I could to change the perspective but, alas, ended up on the same scrap heap of abusers that all the others were cast onto.

If that were the end of it, I'd be okay with being shut down. This particular person wouldn't just do that; they would embark on a smear campaign. Ex-lovers who were ensnared rapidly would be cast out, and their bosses phoned. Lies would be told, and the onslaught was relentless until finally, the manager or boss dismissed the person just to bring an end to the relentless phone calls and emails. The unsuspecting ex-lover would then find another job, and within a week or two, the attacks would ensue again.

What worries me most is that so many thought the person did great advocacy work. Many organizations tried to work with them, but alas, they too would become abusers. I mean, literally anyone who tried to help would end up with the wrath of this person.

At the end of the day, it sends a very disturbing message.

After thirteen years of supporting survivors through recovery, I've encountered many charlatans and schisters that prey on the weak. I've been involved in shutting some of them down, even getting them removed from resources for survivors. I get really angry when victims become predators and work their way into the recovery space to prey on vulnerable people.

Why so many were taken in by this person because of the perception that they were doing "good," I do not understand. I personally know of at least eight people who would have felt the same relief I did at the news of their passing.

As an advocate of male survivors, I literally avoided going to court cases to support victims as I was fearful of bumping into them at the courts. I'm an adult man, 6'2" and capable, yet I was filled with fear at the level of craziness that this person could deliver.

One of the mistakes we make in abuse recovery circles is to push the narrative that only a small percentage of victims become abusers. I choose these words carefully. Note, I am not saying perpetrators; I'm saying abusers. We cannot deny the science; it's there in the study of epigenetics. Victims become abusers, and their children become the victims of their dysfunctional childhoods. We go on to abuse verbally, through anger and violence, or just plain not being emotionally available to our children.

Survivor-led support is vital, but there needs to be a tool to measure the positive or negative impacts of the service that they end up providing to other survivors. What I find most offensive is that other organizations knew of the issues that this person was facing and what they were doing, yet remained silent. I am guilty of that too in this case, as I was petrified of the craziness that would follow should I speak out.

I don't have the answers.

What I've written here are the ramblings of someone who is trying to process all that happened, trying to figure out what measures can be put in place to prevent this in the future. I'm also processing the fact that I was a victim of stalking and cyber bullying. It's all just a little too surreal. Why are we so afraid to speak out in the event of what is effectively an abuse of power?

I've had survivors come to me and tell me of therapists who would abuse them when they sought support for their childhood trauma, and I mean sexually exploit them. I've heard this on more than one occasion.

So why did I allow myself to be abused this way?

Why did I remain silent in the onslaught of the relentless stalking and cyberbullying?

Why was I so afraid to speak out, and why did the name of this person strike such fear into my heart?

So many questions that soon I will find answers to, and I hope you will give me some of your insights and experiences too.