Miss America Told Her Secret. Now It’s My Turn.
“I just read about a former Miss America, Marilyn Van Der Somebody, who told a terrible family secret,” the waitress says to me.
My eyes widen as the partial name clicks instantly. “Do you mean Marilyn Van Derbur? Our Miss America in 1958?
“Yes, I think so. Her father was a pillar of the community, loved by everyone? And then, after he died, she told how he’d sexually abused her for years.”
I stare at her. “Yes. by telling her own story, she opened the door for thousands of abuse survivors to come forward and break their silence.” And then I add, as an afterthought, “I write about her secret in my book.” My mind slips back nearly three decades. I see myself sitting alone late one evening, listening to the stunningly beautiful Van Derbur on my television reveal her story. And I wonder why I can’t stop crying as she speaks.
The waitress continues. “I’m a retired career service woman. You know, today, when I hear people telling their Me, Too stories, I think, “So, how do I choose which story to tell, if I’m going to tell?”
I’ve known this woman for less than five minutes. How can she possibly understand how dumbstruck I feel by this traumatic connection she’s unwittingly opened out of seemingly nowhere? Consequently, I mumble something like, “Oh, gosh, the military environment. I’m sorry…. ”
“Now don’t get me wrong,” she continues. “Most military people are wonderful; it’s just the ones that aren’t, aren’t.”
“I know,” I say, wanting to touch her arm in a gesture of connection. Instead, I remain frozen inside, wondering how on earth this conversation has happened. Where did it come from? While the truth is that I did experience debilitating childhood trauma, do I have a sign or symbol somewhere on my person that people like me can see or recognize or sense?
And later I wonder why, when I told the waitress I’ve written about Van Derbur in my book, did I not also say, “I am a survivor, too, and I’ve written my story.” Surely, those few words would have clearly opened our connection. Perhaps I was completely caught off guard. Yet my deeper suspicion is about the secrecy so carefully and painfully taught to my young self. What follows is a flash of frustration: will the old taboo of silence always lurk in the shadows of my mind and surface at unexpected times? Will it never go completely away?
It has taken years to break through the thick tangled labyrinth of lies, deceit, manipulation, and false beliefs about myself. Then more years of writing and the therapeutic benefits that healing act brings. Next month my book will be published. Now it is my turn. I don’t want to be caught by surprise again. And so, I’ll speak as Marilyn Van Derbur and many others spoke to me decades ago. Lastly, I will hopefully miss no more opportunities to talk with my fellow traumatized brothers and sisters.
*
If you violate your children, they may not speak today, but as we gather our strength and stand beside them, they will one day speak your name. They will speak every . . . single . . . name.
~ Marilyn Van Durber, 1990, in a talk with abuse survivors
Mary Jo Doig is the author of Patchwork: A Memoir of Love and Loss.