5 Things I Want to Say: Words from a Sexual Abuse Survivor

I have been asked some interesting questions about being a sexual abuse survivor. I have also heard or read a number of statements about sexual abuse survivors, perpetrators, families and victims. I'm not here to set the record straight, to tell you what not to say or what you should say to a person living a survival story. I am here to take part in a conversation, and I will be grateful as long as we are talking about sexual abuse and getting it out in the open.

I believe the missing link to healing for many is survivors and their loved ones being able to openly and honestly discuss sexual abuse and how it impacts their lives. We see that this ability to share our stories, whether they are centered around recovery from addiction, battling mental illness or simply navigating daily life, is what helps us to know and understand one another. I love that as a society, we are beginning to recognize that before we can even begin to address these problems, we must first discuss them. We must open the conversation, we must find our voice.

I am committed to being a person who says, "Hey, I'm here, I survived sexual abuse and this is what I think we need to talk about." I am only one voice. What strikes me as important right now may not ring true for others. Words I find comforting, others may find hurtful or make them sad. All I can do is let you know a few things I want to say as a Survivor, and hope that others begin to find their voice to add to the conversation. Here are just five things among many that I want you to know.

1. Being Young Doesn't Make Surviving Abuse "Easier"

When it comes to discussing being a sexual abuse victim, I have heard people say, "Well, you were very young." This statement seems to dismiss the validity of the abuse because of my age. While children are known to be resilient, it does not mean that since everything happened long ago, I should not be greatly impacted in my daily life as an adult. In fact, of children who are sexually abused, 20% of them will be abused before the age of eight. When abuse occurs at a young age, during a developmental stage when children need a tremendous amount of reassuring love and care, it can and absolutely does have lasting effects. Being dismissive of someone's experience based on their age (or any other factor) is likely to increase their challenges on the path to healing.

Adding to the minimizing tone set toward children who experience sexual abuse, many adults seem to think that children cannot accurately recall their abuse, or are more likely to exaggerate or embellish the story. The truth is that false reports by children are incredibly rare, making up only four to eight percent of all reported cases. In those instances it is usually the adults involved who are fabricating the story and asking the children to repeat it, not the children creating a story from their own imagination.

It should not surprise us that many adults have a history of childhood sexual abuse that was not reported during childhood. Research estimates that only about one-third of abused children will tell someone about their abuse, and of those only a small number will actually be reported to proper authorities or law enforcement. Children (and adults) do not tell their story for many reasons, including feelings of shame, fear of punishment or consequences, an inability to find words to express what is happening to them, trust in or care for the individual perpetrating the abuse, and many other factors.

It doesn't matter if abuse victims are very young or adults, when unwanted sexual behavior is exhibited toward them, it will likely have some impact on their life for the remainder of their life. I know that some victims may forget about their abuse for a time, live in denial, or bury it deep within their subconscious for years and years. For myself, I can point to very specific memories of incidents when I was being abused, beginning at a very young age. I can remember the light in the room, the face of my perpetrator, and perhaps most significantly the way it made me feel. It doesn't matter that I was only four years old. Shame is a feeling I can identify now as an adult, and it is a feeling I have known for as long as I can remember.

2. It Doesn't Matter How Many Times Abuse Occurred

Another statement I have heard that minimizes the impact of sexual abuse is, "Didn't it just happen that one time?" I would like to ask in response, "Isn't just one time, one time too many?"  I wonder if we would say the same to a person who had been physically beaten. Would we suggest that because they were only assaulted once, that assault was less damaging to them? What if that assault left them permanently scarred, or disabled? Along the same lines, would we suggest that if an adult rape victim was raped only one time, the rape was not detrimental in their life? The damage that occurs when a person is sexually abused as a child can cause deep wounds that they will battle for as long as they live. The scars may not be visible to you, but they are often sending shock waves through a survivor's life years later.

In addition, do not assume that because one instance of abuse was reported or told to you, that was the only abuse that occurred. Children will often minimize their abuse experience or rationalize the events as a means of coping with the abuse. As a result of fear, or a feeling of responsibility for the well-being of the family, children will attempt to carry the abuse themselves in order to minimize the fallout they see occurring all around them. Remember that shame is a powerful force, and will often cause us to remain silent.

The sexual abuse I experienced did occur on multiple occasions, with more than one perpetrator, over the course of several years. As a child, I was unable to fully communicate what was happening to me. I believed that something must have been wrong with me that made me continually become the target of different abusers. I did not want to be the cause of more pain and discord in my family.

The frequency, duration and type of abuse does have an impact on a survivor's road to healing. However, I would never assume that my path to healing is any easier or more difficult than that of another. Abuse that occurs once can have a lasting impact, in the same way that one violent encounter can leave a person scarred for life. A survivor should never have to justify their experience by providing numbers or statistics to quantify the challenges they face as a result.

3. I'm Never Going to Get Over It

Surviving childhood sexual abuse means living with a tremendous sense of loss.  Many survivors will grieve the loss of their childhood or innocence far too soon, the loss of their ability to trust, the loss of their relationship with friends or family members who may have allowed or disbelieved the abuse and more. Grief is a powerful emotion, and it isn't something we get over. We heal, we learn how to move forward, we find ways to honor our experiences, but we do not get over it.

I would never tell a person who has lost a parent, family member or close friend that they should get over their grief or sense of loss. I recognize that while grief will change, while the sharpness of the ache may smooth over with time, their loss will stay with them and they will confront that grief and sadness at different times of their life to varying degrees

I used to think that once I was really, truly "healed" from my past experiences, I would no longer be troubled by any flawed beliefs, any moments of sadness over what was lost, or have to face the realities of my past in any way. At this time in my life I find that idea ridiculous. How can I no longer know and reflect my own history and experience? In the same way that a recovering addict will identify themselves that way for the rest of their lives in order to keep the addiction at bay, I believe abuse survivors will have to recognize their triggers, see how the abuse experience clouds the lens they view life through, and generally continue to choose to walk a path toward healing throughout their life. Sometimes they will be in seasons where the abuse is a shadow, following behind them, there but not in the forefront of their life and heart. Sometimes memories of the abuse or challenges will present in new and different ways, forcing them to once again search out healing and a way forward.

I have had to review my path of healing many times throughout my life. I have had to consider how my history of sexual abuse affects my marriage, the birth of my children, my role as a parent, and how I face disappointment, stress, challenges and loss in life. While the wounds no longer fester and ache in the same way they did before I faced them and dealt with them through my faith, counseling, prayer and a willingness to heal, that old scar still tingles from time to time. I may always grieve what was lost, but that doesn't mean that I don't also rejoice in all that I have been given as well.

4.  Talking About It Now Doesn't Mean I'm Ungrateful

Acknowledging that I still feel the loss of much in my past does not mean that I do not fully appreciate my present circumstances. In fact it is just the opposite. It is precisely because I am so blessed, so loved, that I find the strength to share from my story, in hopes that others can find healing as well. Some days it is the ache of gratitude over this incredible gift of life, to be married to a man who adores me, to have healthy children who are loved and sheltered and growing into incredible human beings, this ache pushes me to say something about all that happened before.

I talk about surviving sexual abuse so that my children will know the power that faith has had in healing and changing my life, and subsequently their lives. I talk about surviving sexual abuse so that others who are just beginning to trudge through overwhelming feelings of sadness or shame can know that they are not alone. I talk about surviving sexual abuse so that friends and family members of other survivors may glimpse what it means for their loved one to navigate life now. I talk about surviving sexual abuse because I have a voice, and many survivors have not yet been able to tell their story, and maybe never will. I talk about surviving sexual abuse because the first step to overcoming this tragedy in our world is talking about it, turning on the light and sharing our stories.

5. You Can Help Prevent Childhood Sexual Abuse

The last thing I want to say (for now) is that you can make a difference and help to prevent childhood sexual abuse. It may feel overwhelming, but there are actually five very simple things that you can do to help prevent childhood sexual abuse.

The 5 Steps to Protecting Our Children

1. Learn the Facts - The statistics can feel overwhelming, but learning to separate truth from myth is important when discussing sexual abuse.

2. Minimize Opportunity - Childhood sexual abuse most often happens in isolated, one-to-one situations and is often perpetrated by someone the victim knows.

3. Talk About It - Be honest with children at an age-appropriate level about sex, their bodies, and boundaries; help them to feel safe to talk to you if something happens. Listen to stories from survivors to understand the long-term effects of sexual abuse.

4. Recognize the Signs - Every person is different, and the signs abuse is occurring may be subtle, but you can learn what to watch for as indications of abuse.

5. React Responsibly - Understand that very few reports of abuse are false, and know the appropriate methods for reporting suspected abuse in your area.

Once you click the link above to learn the facts, consider Joining the Movement at Darkness to Light. I just found this organization and I am so grateful to know they are taking strides to protect our children.

I would also like to ask if you would consider sharing this post with others in your circle of influence. While I know that there are many resources available for sexual abuse survivors and their loved ones, I also know that they are not accessed nearly as often as they are needed. We each have a circle of those who trust what we post to be important or worthwhile to read. Please think about whether my story might benefit someone in your circle who needs to know that they are not alone in their journey toward healing and finding their voice. Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Sharing our stories is how we will change the world.

Right Type of Story

I have been thinking quite a bit lately about my story.  I have been trying to unravel the series of events that make up the narrative of my life until now.  I am searching for clues, trying to fill in the blanks, putting together pieces of memory and outside views of certain chapters of my existence.  Because my story has very dark moments, I struggle to decide what exactly I want anyone to know about this journey, the conflict and climax and resolution of my experiences on this earth.  I know that the antidote to darkness is light, and the desire to shed light on hidden places causes me to feel compelled to find words to share about those dark moments.  But the words don’t come easily.

When I was six years old, I was being evaluated by a mental health worker due to confirmed reports of sexual abuse.  My uncle admitted that he was a pedophile, and had violated numerous children.  He acknowledged that he had committed various acts with me so many times that he could not recall the exact number or complete nature of the encounters.  Throughout most of the proceedings in the case, I was silent.  While I accurately confirmed the accounts of the abuse in a matter of fact way when asked, the most frequent note in the reports from various police officers, family service workers and counselors is that I refused to speak, and that I cried.

During one of many counseling sessions intended to help me talk about my feelings regarding the abuse, the therapist asked me to complete an exercise by looking at various pictures and telling him a story about what I saw.  A family services worker who was observing the session noted that I was extremely reluctant to participate in the exercise.  His exact words were, “La’Tisha is very much of a perfectionist and was afraid that she would not tell the right type of story.”  Already, at the age of six, I felt a desperate need to please the people around me.  I had already seen that when a story deviates from the allocated plan, upheaval would follow.  I knew that my story caused problems, people were angry, and it was better to keep my mouth shut than to invoke more trouble by speaking how I truly felt.  I needed to tell the right story, the one the people around me wanted or needed to hear, and I made it my business to do so.

Years later, I want to find a way to speak for the little girl who cried silently.  I believe that the story I tell—with my life, my time, and my words—is important.  I know that a good story can open our eyes, shift our perspective, and change the way we see and interact with the world around us.  I want to tell my story of beauty for ashes, of restoration for what the locust has eaten, in a way that makes others believe that kind of reconciliation is possible.  I’m trying very hard, though, to be less concerned about telling the “right kind” of story.  The only story I have to tell is my own.  The only way I can tell my story is to share it honestly.  The only way this story can be wrong, I think, is if I do not tell it at all.

I am tired of being silent about how surviving this kind of childhood trauma affects my life every. single. day.  I know that I am not the only woman who is trying to be a loving wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend while constantly battling the demons of her past.  I believe that my children should know something of what I have experienced, because I believe that history we do not learn from is destined to repeat itself.  It is time to find my voice and speak.  I want to tell my story because I know how isolated, lonely and discouraged I feel at times, and I believe it may help others to know that they are not alone.  It is time for me to break the silence of what it means to live as a survivor.

Because these are the most important truths: I live.  I survived.  Each and every day that I continue to struggle to be here, to be present, to be enough, is a victory of survival.  I am realizing that the truth is that I will never completely move on.  I will move forward, but I cannot change what I see in my rear view mirror.  This is my life.  Every once in a while, I have to look back and notice that the past is still there, behind me.  Sometimes, peeking in that rear view mirror helps me to correct my course.  Keep moving forward, but don’t forget what got me here. 

That is what I’m setting out to do.  Look back through that past and acknowledge how it has shaped me.  Stop trying to shut it down and pretend that I am fine now, and that the story isn’t integral to who I am.  I need to accept the fact that my abusers took from me things that I will never be able to regain.  The plan now is to get loud about how I’m dealing with that loss, and to share gratitude over all that I have also gained.  Some days I will blog about the here and now, and other days I am dedicating to writing the past in a book.

As survivors go, I know that I am fortunate.  Throughout the storms I faced as a child, there were always places of shelter.  I am grateful, so grateful, for the opportunities to be where I am today.  I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the people who showed that they cared and intervened on my behalf.  And so I recognize that when I raise my voice, I do so not only for myself, but also for those who were not so sheltered.  I raise my voice for those who are forever silenced by their circumstances, those who are perhaps destined to repeat the cycles of abuse, those who had no pause for breath in a lifetime of shame, beating, berating, and abuse.  I also raise my voice for the little girl who could not find words, and silently cried.  This is ultimately where I find the courage to share my story, on behalf of the many, many stories that may never be told.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves;

ensure justice for those being crushed.

Yes, speak up for the poor and helpless,

And see that they get justice.”

Proverbs 31:8-9

Finding my voice...

So, here's the thing.  I am pretty sure that I have a story to tell.  I believe it's a story that needs to be told, a story that others can identify with, a story of healing and hope and restoration.  It is a story that is continually being written and rewritten; one where the very early chapters still thicken the plot as it unfolds today.  I also believe that I am capable of telling my story.  I think everyone has been given a way of communicating their story and thereby leaving their impression on the world--in paint or sculpture, in intimate relationship or corporate leadership, in financial generosity or time spent, in music or movement or verse.  The best way I know to tell my story is through the written word.  

The challenge I am facing is that I read all of these amazing authors telling some pretty cool stories.  As I do, I find myself wondering why on earth anyone would care to read my story when there are so many incredible people out there sharing theirs so well.  I seriously stalk the amazing blogs of Kelle Hampton and Glennon Melton.  I get lost in great articles I stumble on via Facebook like this one a friend shared tonight.  I cannot wait for new books from authors I admire like Shauna Niequist or Donald Miller who are weaving stories of redemption with threads that make you yearn to experience it, and who are telling about Jesus in ways that make you want to get to know him.

For as long as I can remember, I have been plagued with self-doubt.  The voice in my head has always warned me that failure looms just around the bend from trying something new.  Seeds planted very early in my life have grown into strongly rooted, barbed and twisty vines around my heart.  These vines bear fruit like fear and uncertainty, and they are a haven for the belief that as long as someone else is better than me, I am not worth listening to.

What I love most about the writers I listed above, though, is that they speak in their own unique voice, and their voice tells a personal story in a way that is riveting and compelling.  I could say that they are better writers than I may ever hope to be.  And yet...  They cannot tell my story.  They do not have my voice.  

For me, this is both the challenge of writing a blog and the motivation to keep going.  I must find my voice.  This sort of writing and sharing gives me the opportunity to try expressing little parts of my life and my heart in different ways.  This is the chance to find the balance and the rhythm of my own expression.  I want to find a way to be honest and raw and real about how very hard life can be and how much I struggle.  At the same time, I want to continue to bring myself and others back to the truth that in the midst of all that seems like chaos, God is bigger, and He is telling a better story than the one I am walking out on this earth.

I don't really know what that means just yet.  I can't decide just where this blog should focus.  Do I write about special needs and seek to raise awareness to the awesomeness having someone with an extra chromosome in your life can bring?  Do I chronicle motherhood, the joys of Tasty Tuesday and the trials of Mount Laundry?  Do I try to unpack spiritual truths in a devotional way, sharing what God reveals to my heart from His word or through relationships with others?  Or is this a way to put words to the story of a little girl, who has grown into a woman that is given beauty for ashes?  I feel like I need a focus, but for the moment, I really don't know.  I would love to hear your feedback if there is a topic that leaves you wanting to know more.

Thanks for joining with me on this journey to find my voice.  I pray that you will find a way to tell your amazing story in your own voice as well.

Loves.

Oh, and photos of my cuties.  Because, hello...  They're cute!

Another year older...

This past weekend it was my birthday.  I turned 33.  I was inordinately spoiled by my husband and good friends who made it possible to go just outside of town for the perfect Fall getaway.  We stayed at a lovely Bed and Breakfast that had 80 acres of amazing foliage to admire.  Much of it was visible from our room's balcony, where we sat and ate a delicious meal together in the sunset Friday evening.  It was completely excessive to celebrate a thirty-third birthday with an overnight trip.  Completely excessive, and totally necessary.  

View from our room... Fall is amazing.

Dinner--YUMMY!

The past couple of years have been...challenging...for me.  I have found it difficult to rejoice in a variety of problems and trials, as Paul suggests we do in Romans 5.  I have found it incredibly easy, however, to complain about them.  And in all of this complaining and whining about trivial matters of day-to-day life, I have forgotten to be thankful for the miracles I have been given.  This weekend was a wonderful reminder of one of those miracles--my amazing husband and pretty-gosh-darn-happy marriage.

Oh yeah, ladies...  This one's all mine!

It is easy to let the pressures of our crazy schedule (we work opposite shifts) get in the way of good communication and loving exchanges.  We are often short with one another.  We get frustrated about little things.  We could do a better job of establishing routines and structures that would anchor us through the regular storms of life--being over-committed,  running late, unexpected bills, getting sick--all of the little things that make up day-to-day married life.  We both work very hard and often parent independently, and it's too easy to take each other for granted.  In spite of all that, we are incredibly blessed in knowing that we both really love each other.

I honestly count my loving husband as one of the most amazing blessings in my life, and a good friend recently reminded me that in all actuality, my marriage is really a miracle.  Someday I hope to write about all of the chaos that makes me having a surviving and thriving marriage so miraculous, but for now I'll list the highlights.  My parents divorced when I was four.  My father soon remarried, and divorced again when I was twelve.  My father remarried a third time, and his current wife wants absolutely nothing to do with me.  My mother also remarried when I was young, and her husband is not a kind man, to put it mildly.  My childhood was full of abuse and neglect, and yet it was full of grace and redemption as well.  I have been married for twelve years, and in that time my husband has shown me a love I never believed I deserved.  He has loved me in a way that is Christ-like and devoted, and he has protected me in a way my own parents never did.  We are together against all odds, living out a marriage that has either lasted longer or been much more healthy than any of my parents' many unions.  My marriage isn't perfect, but it is a miracle.

View as we began our drive home...

I am so grateful for our little overnight trip to reconnect.  It was short, but it was full of laughter, of love, of time with no one but each other for just a little while.  I was refreshed by the incredible scenery, the luxury of someone else taking care of me, and the opportunity to talk with one another.  We must find a way to integrate this kind of connecting into our daily lives.  

Taking time...

This year, 33, I want to take control of my own thoughts.  I want to bring my focus back to the many miracles and blessings I have in my life, instead of focusing so much on what I want but do not have.  Although the challenges loom large in front of me and threaten to overwhelm me at times, the truth is that the blessings outweigh and outshine the challenges.  I need only to remember where to put my focus and my hope.


"Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God's glory.  We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance.  And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our hope of salvation.  And this hope will not lead to disappointment." Romans 5:2-5a (NLT)

Love wins...  And it is a miracle every single time it happens.

Not Quite Yet

Little Bear

 I have lost count of how many times I have gasped and sat up on the edge of my seat, thinking that Baby Girl was just...this...close...to taking that first step.  I watch her for a few moments, reaching my hands out to her, encouraging her.  She stands, barely an inch from the couch, blinking at the unfamiliar feeling of supporting all her weight on her own two feet.  She stretches her arms away from her body, fingers fully extended, legs beginning to wobble with effort.  She rocks on her heels and toes, reaching, grasping, thinking...  You can almost see her willing her own foot to rise from the ground.  Seconds later I fall back into my chair and shrug, not quite yet, as she plops down into her "little bear" position and saunters away.

While I am not discouraged that she hasn't taken that first step alone yet, I do sometimes feel disheartened after a difficult occupational or physical therapy session.  There are days when she refuses to put her feet on the ground, when she hangs the weight of her body from my arms or the arms of her therapists, and pulls her toes up toward her chest, as far from the floor as she can get them.  She insists with loud cries of protest, not that she cannot walk, but that she will not.  I do not worry about her physical ability to walk, I worry about her emotional willingness to do so.  She does not like for her body to be manipulated, and I fear that her extreme aversion to accepting help will begin to impede her forward progress.  My adorable little bear is stuck right now; when she stands and stretches her body forward it is as though her feet are glued to the floor. It seems as though her feet cannot receive the message that her brain is sending.  If only she would let us lift that foot for her, put her body through the motions, help her brain to imprint the message in the movements of her body.  Once the connections are made, I believe there will be no stopping her.

In those moments when I catch her trying on her own, I can see on her face that she wants to take a step.  I can tell by her eyes that she will take a step.  I get a glimpse of her resolve, and I reach my hands out toward her, coaxing her, calling her, yearning for her to make that move.  She stares at me, and then her glance wavers, and she sits with a plop and a look that says, not quite yet.

Tonight, I am aware that I am not unlike my Baby Girl.  Emotionally, I have been stuck in a tough spot for a while, shrouded in doubt and darkness and depression.  I know the steps that will lead me out, I know who I need to call on and in whom to place my trust.  So I struggle onto my feet and I reach my arms out toward the One who can rescue me.  I tell my brain to make my heart believe the truth instead of lies, I will myself to keep moving forward.  As I stretch a little further, I falter, I wobble, and I plop back down in my muddy pit.  Not quite yet.  I know that it is time to move forward, and yet I am afraid to let go of what has anchored me in this season of my life.  I am ashamed to admit that my anchor has been wallowing in misery and self-pity and anger.  I have lost track of what, exactly, I am really angry about.  But I have let so many dark thoughts and so much bitterness slowly seep into my veins, that I am afraid if I let go of all the anger I am holding onto, I will fall flat on my face.  I will be weak.  I will be broken.  My anger seems to hold me up, I think it is a wall I have built to keep me strong.  Instead it is a weight that holds me down, and presses me further into the mud.

Looking on in anticipation as my Baby Girl stands, thinking about how she may need more help to take those first steps, I began to feel an awareness of how much I need to allow myself to receive help as well.  I believe that my Father God is watching me, wanting so much to help me, take the weight of my anger from me so that I can escape this pit and allow him to change my heart.   Even though I wobble and falter, He is delighted just to know that I want to take that first step.  He is on the edge of his seat, stretching toward me and wanting me to reach for Him, and He promises He will not let me fall.  He is not disappointed that I haven't taken that step yet; He is overjoyed that I am willing to try.

That I will keep trying, that I will allow myself to be rescued, that I will ask Him to lift me, and that I will walk out every step of Psalm 40 with His help...  This is my prayer tonight.

¹ I waited patiently for the Lord to help me,
    and he turned to me and heard my cry.
² He lifted me out of the pit of despair,
    out of the mud and the mire.
He set my feet on solid ground
    and steadied me as I walked along.
³ He has given me a new song to sing,
    a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see what he has done and be amazed.
    They will put their trust in the Lord.

⁴ Oh, the joys of those who trust the Lord,
    who have no confidence in the proud
    or in those who worship idols.
⁵ O Lord my God, you have performed many wonders for us.
    Your plans for us are too numerous to list.
    You have no equal.
If I tried to recite all your wonderful deeds,
    I would never come to the end of them.

⁶ You take no delight in sacrifices or offerings.
    Now that you have made me listen, I finally understand—
    you don’t require burnt offerings or sin offerings.
⁷ Then I said, “Look, I have come.
    As is written about me in the Scriptures:
⁸ I take joy in doing your will, my God,
    for your instructions are written on my heart.”

⁹ I have told all your people about your justice.
    I have not been afraid to speak out,
    as you, O Lord, well know.
¹⁰ I have not kept the good news of your justice hidden in my heart;
    I have talked about your faithfulness and saving power.
I have told everyone in the great assembly
    of your unfailing love and faithfulness.

¹¹ Lord, don’t hold back your tender mercies from me.
    Let your unfailing love and faithfulness always protect me.
¹² For troubles surround me—
    too many to count!
My sins pile up so high
    I can’t see my way out.
They outnumber the hairs on my head.
    I have lost all courage.

¹³ Please, Lord, rescue me!
    Come quickly, Lord, and help me.
¹⁴ May those who try to destroy me
    be humiliated and put to shame.
May those who take delight in my trouble
    be turned back in disgrace.
¹⁵ Let them be horrified by their shame,
    for they said, “Aha! We’ve got him now!”

Not quite yet...

¹⁶ But may all who search for you
    be filled with joy and gladness in you.
May those who love your salvation
    repeatedly shout, “The Lord is great!”
¹⁷ As for me, since I am poor and needy,
    let the Lord keep me in his thoughts.
You are my helper and my savior.
    O my God, do not delay.

Psalm 40, New Living Translation