Regardless of the gender used, this applies to both sexes

If you’ve had an alcoholic parent, or if you’ve been sexually victimized, you are more vulnerable to feelings of shame and self-doubt, along with the belief that all problems are your fault. These factors can also create a drive to be perfect and a deep-seated fear that no one will like you if they learn your darkest secret.

Actress Teri Hatcher understands this. A survivor of sexual abuse, Hatcher said she wants to “help stop the pattern in women to take less than what they deserve, and to help stop the burnt-toast syndrome for their girls . . . I don't think you have to be molested to be in pain as a woman, to feel like you don't deserve good things . . . we are all women who don't treat ourselves well enough. Women walk around feeling like everything is their fault, and if they could only be better they could get something good” (Vanity Fair, 2006).

Before we can begin to help (victims) thrive, we must first help them survive various types of abuse and their own negative feelings. So the silence and secrecy must be shattered. That means anyone who plays a role must be willing to talk about it, instead of helping to hide it by pretending we have no such thing as sexual abuse or domestic violence. It begins with parents who aren’t afraid to ask hard questions, when a child is acting out for no apparent reason. If your child’s been victimized, then you're only allowing the damage go deeper, by refusing to see it or by failing to obtain the necessary medical care and therapy your child needs.

* * *

When it comes to standing up and helping (victims) who can’t help themselves, a good example comes from my time spent as a police reporter at the Cumberland Times-News. A couple was driving by when they saw a man choking a woman on a city street, so the couple stopped their car and went to help. The injured woman had no pulse and wasn’t breathing, so Rhonda Kennell, a registered nurse, performed CPR. Police said the consequences could have been tragic, if not for Kennell’s help.

“I just feel that’s the right thing to do,” Kennell told me when I interviewed her for a news article. City Police Officer Lt. Brian Lepley said Kennell’s help was “deeply appreciated by city police and . . . just shows that people still care” (Cumberland Times-News, Dec. 16, 2007).

* * *

Jerry Toppins Jr. acted out during his teens, due to family violence. In 1990, Jerry’s dad gunned down his stepmother, Wanda, in Arthurdale, W.Va., in front of Jerry’s brother David, who was then three-years-old. That was years after Jerry’s first stepmother, Cindy, died under suspicious circumstances—and long after Jerry’s own mother, Peggy, barely escaped with her life. When she did, she took Jerry and his sister, Gujuan, with her.

Jerry’s life taught him to advocate for these victims, who are often unable to do so on their own. Abuse victims should “never hide it . . . tell everyone about every detail . . . Don't die easy, go out kicking screaming and struggling.” For everyone else, who can do something about it, he has another message. “Fight it wherever you see it. Stand up for those you see in need” (Personal correspondence, Sept. 22, 2008).

* * *

So whether it’s domestic violence, child abuse or depression, do it anyway—because you have no idea how you would feel if you do nothing.

Editor's note: This condensed information is taken from chapter one of the forthcoming Lethal Silence by Daleen Berry, to be published in December 2011. This book is an academic text that looks at several case studies involving families whose lives were shattered by a lethal silence that left children dead, and the role such stressors as child sexual abuse, teen pregnancy, depression and domestic violence played. (Copyright 2011)

If you are a parent and want to better protect your children, or if you're a victim who has survived child sexual abuse, please go to Amazon and read the foreword of Sister of Silence. Written by renowned (and now retired) FBI special agent Kenneth V. Lanning, it's well worth your time.

Posted by Daleen at 12:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

In a rapidly-evolving environment, change is constant. In the book publishing industry, that change continues to occur at warp speed. Or at least, it feels that way.

Ever since Sister of Silence was first released in February, I've debated with myself, with colleagues, with other authors and especially readers, over the paperback book's price. That decision was compounded when the e-book was recently released.

The way I figure, if the major publishing houses can't get a grip on what's happening well in advance, or at least in time to proactively make decisions that will benefit their companies, then how should I be able to make the best decision for my pricing model?

That's why I asked for input from the people around me. The problem was, the numbers were all over the place: from $7.99 to $19.99 for the paperback (317 pages) version, and from $2.99 to $9.99 for the e-book. Some folks warned me not to set it too low, for fear prospective buyers would somehow translate that to mean an inferior product. (Which it isn't, in my humble opinion.) Other people urged me to err on the opposite end: they didn't want me to set it too high and price myself out of the market entirely.

So I made an executive decision, setting the prices at $14.99 (discounted from the retail $18.99 ticket) and $9.99, respectively.

But in the meantime, some things have happened to make me rethink the pricing structure for my books. First and foremost, the Penn State tragedy—which has become a veritable Pandora's Box involving one of the biggest child sex abuse scandals in this country—has victims speaking out for the first time. Victims who were emboldened by this case, and by the reprisals that are occurring in this wake of this case.

And many people are actually having a dialogue about what it means to be a responsible parent, and talk to children about sex and abuse—long before and so those children don't have to become victims, too. The opinions about how to do this are pretty similar, but my guess is that parents are still going to be squeamish when it comes to discussing anything about sex with their children.

So they need all the help they can get, right? What better way to do that, than to provide what some people are calling a "groundbreaking tool" that can be used for just that purpose, at a price more people can afford? We're talking about saving not just children, but families and society, for wounded children become wounded adults—and we've all seen what wounded adults can do when they lash out at others. It isn't pretty and the carnage is often deadly.

Second, and while this is less important than the first reason, it must be given equal consideration: If The Glass Castle (which is one of the books my customers buy) is selling for less than $10 on Amazon, why should I expect my book (written by an unknown author) to be priced any higher? Personally, I don't believe I should, and I don't. Thus the SOS paperback price has been reduced to $9.99.

When it comes to the e-book, I'm going back to the feelings I had at the outset: making, selling and distributing an electronic book costs next to nothing—especially in comparison to the costs involving in the same process for a book printed on paper. J. A. Konrath said it best in The Newbie's Guide to Publishing Book, and I should have listened to him before: e-book prices have been set too high. So, if your price is too high, people who want your book badly enough will pirate it, which is lost profit. But if the price is set low enough, people who don't know you will take a chance on your book--because they don't have much to lose. (He and other self-published authors, like M. J. Rose and Amanda Hocking, have certainly found this to be true.)

The book industry is going to continue to evolve, as more e-readers and e-books roll out, and paper books will continue to find less favor among readers. For now, at least. In the meantime, it makes sense to offer the SOS e-book for $2.99, because it doesn't cost nearly that much to produce it. And in the long run, if the lower price results in more sales, then that just means that more people can be helped by reading it.

Editor's note: Nellie Bly Books now offers the reduced price for the printed book, but the new e-book prices may not show up at Amazon or Barnes and Noble for 24-hours.

If you are a parent and want to protect your children, or if you're a victim who has survived child sexual abuse, please go to Amazon and read the foreword of my book. The foreword alone is well worth your time. If, after reading that, you want to purchase SOS, you have several options: paperback or e-book, direct from Nellie Bly Books (where you can also find links to Amazon and Barnes and Noble), or even in many bookstores and libraries around the country. (That number is growing by the day. If you can't find it in a bookstore or library near you, just ask them to order it. Libraries, especially, are finding they have a long waiting list for the book, if they only have one copy in distribution.)

Posted by Daleen at 10:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

If nothing else, I’m thrilled that the Penn State scandal has allowed other victims of child sexual abuse to break their silence. According to NPR, attorneys around the country are fielding phone calls from victims eager to report their abuse.

It’s about time.

Because breaking their own silence is the first step to healing from the horrible abuse they never should have suffered. I know this firsthand, because I’ve been speaking up about my experience with child sexual abuse and rape since 2003. I’ve encouraged other victims to speak up, and told audiences that it’s been a cathartic process for me to do so.

I’m sad it took something of this magnitude to wake up people, but I'm happy they're now wide awake.

I’m also furious that for many people, this story is only about Joe Paterno, a sports icon, or football, the country’s national pastime.

For them, it’s not about the victims at all. But for me, the victims are the one and only thing this story is about.

Whenever I blog about child sexual abuse or post pertinent comments on social networking sites, I’m equally saddened when I come across yet another victim, who says their abuse has left them suspended in time. For you see, still trapped by the secret crimes from their past, they remain unable to move forward toward their future. Nor do they seem to know how to escape the deadly silence.

What’s clear to me is that part of their problem can be traced directly to the public’s response upon learning that Penn State, a public institution, kept allegations of child sexual abuse secret. When powerful men like Paterno and games like the one Penn State played last Saturday against Nebraska hog the headlines, why would a victim feel compelled to speak out?

Although the victims who remain suspended somewhere between their past and their present, and I experienced similar types of abuse, our healing progress is clearly not the same. And how could it be, when they lack the much-needed support to help them heal?

And yet, with enough help from the people around them, they can begin that incredible journey to a place of peace. They can close the pages to their past, experience their present, and begin making plans for their future. I know this because, surrounded by supportive people who loved me, that’s exactly what I did.

The first time someone told me I healed myself was at a 2005 child abuse conference I attended. That observation came from a psychologist who specialized in cognitive behavior. His words summarized his belief about what I had accomplished, based on what he knew about my (then unpublished) memoir, Sister of Silence.

I heard this again recently, when I met with the Bay Area therapist who is using my book with her own patients. I had to know why, of all the mental health literature out there, she chose my book to use in her work. “It provides a step-by-step guide to healing,” Dr. Jean Shimozaki said. “It shows your own path, how you healed yourself.”

Until 2005, I never thought about it like that. I’m still loath to, for I had many good people around, helping me to work on the issues of abuse I needed to overcome. Here’s the thing, though: I was deeply motivated to heal, for the sake of my children, and for the future of our family. I did not want the abuse I experienced to continue in each successive generation, as I know so often happens. So I worked very hard to look within, to see what changes I needed to make to become healthy, and to then do the work necessary to reach that goal.

Since then, I’ve come to realize it’s possible that those two mental health professionals were correct, for I had written in great detail about many of the abusive acts I experienced. I recorded the events themselves, from my perspective; I wrote about my abuser’s words and actions; and I painfully recounted those of my own. I wrote candidly about the part I had played—or thought I had played—in my own abuse. I wrote from the heart about how it felt at the time to be a victim.

As a result, those journals became valuable tools in my healing. First and foremost, they provided clarity, for I could compare what my abuser told me, with what I knew to be truth—and that helped me to stay grounded.

Second, as I tried to make sense of my life, I would search through the pages for accounts I thought I remembered—only to find that they had been recorded much differently than I recalled. If I even could recall them. In some cases, entire events had disappeared from my mind, only to come flooding back upon reading what I had written in those spiral notebooks.

Finally, over the years, I started to write Sister of Silence—as a way to help others not just understand—but to act differently. As I consulted those journals for research purposes, I began to process what had happened, and this helped with my personal healing.

I first spoke out in public about my abuse in 1999, to a small group of strangers in California. But I began speaking out publicly in earnest, in West Virginia in 2003. That was eight years ago. In the interim, I’ve freed myself from almost every painful memory I remember. It’s as if, by speaking out, I gave myself permission to let go of the burdens I’d carried around. They literally fell from my shoulders, disappearing into my past as easily as yesterday’s rainstorm disappears into the ground.

Apparently, that's what also happening for many Sister of Silence readers. There is rarely a week that goes by, in which I don't receive an email from someone who tells me they read my book—and see themselves in my story. Sometimes, I'm privileged to experience it in person—as happened at a recent book signing and, earlier, at the conference where I spoke in September. Social workers from all over the country were there, and they lined up to buy my book after I told them about my experience with abuse and survival.

Some of these professionals were older than I am, but they had never told anyone about their abuse—until that day, when they told me. Some of them had tears in their eyes. All of them were grateful that someone was willing to speak out, showing them the way to escape their own silence.

Most recently, I received an email from "Lana," someone I haven't seen since high school. I had no idea what her life was really life, all those years ago, any more than she had about mine. And yet, Lana's email said she wished we had talked more, and opened up to each other back then. "It took your book for me to find me," Lana said.

What that means to me personally is that I gave Lana permission to speak out. And perhaps to understand herself better. To forgive herself. To love herself. By writing about my own life, and my own story, she now realizes it's safe to speak out about what happened to her. Because, you see, there really is safety in numbers. Especially when someone else feels free enough to do it in such a public fashion.

For today’s victims of child sexual abuse—be they Penn State victims or victims from anywhere around the country—to do the same, all they need is our collective permission to speak out. I invite Paterno to join me in giving them that permission. For Paterno, as Jeffrey W. Pollard, director of George Mason University counseling and psychological services suggested, could take the lead in granting that permission.

As Pollard says, Paterno can encourage the country to support “those who have been harmed, (which) often involves more courage than standing up to a blitzing all-American linebacker.” Since so many of us—especially Paterno—have done little else for these victims, surely he can do this.

And if Paterno does, I believe he will joined by a groundswell of people who feel free to show their support, too. This can only lead to the profound effect of freeing even more victims from the shadows of silence, so they too can have a chance to fully heal from what must no longer be permitted to continue unabated against children as a secret crime.

Editor's note: If you are a parent and want to protect your children, or if you're a victim who has survived child sexual abuse, please go to Amazon and read the foreword of my book. The foreword alone is well worth your time. If, after reading that, you want to purchase SOS, you have several options: paperback or e-book, direct from Nellie Bly Books, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or even in many bookstores and libraries around the country. (That number is growing by the day. If you can't find it in a bookstore or library near you, just ask them to order it. Libraries, especially, are finding they have a long waiting list for the book, if they only have one copy in distribution.)

Posted by Daleen at 08:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Children everywhere are still not safe tonight.

That's because a pedophile was allowed to roam the halls of a sacred academic institution, while power and prestige took priority over the plight of the children who were sacrificed to the gods of profit.

Kind of reminds me of the ancient god Molech, to whom parents in Judean times sacrificed their live children on a fiery altar.

When an entire institution turns a blind eye to the plight of a child as young as 10, all for fear of reprisals, loss of power, prestige and—mostly—profits, is it really any different than those pagan worshippers of so long ago? Is it really any better? Should it be any more revered?

The Penn State scandal has left a distinctly bad taste in my mouth. Like most people, I'm sickened that a college football coach, a president, a finance director, and even the grad student who witnessed a small child being raped by a grown man—among other adults who were aware of Sandusky's perverted behavior--would not report such a crime to law enforcement.

In fact, when I tried to take a nap today, I could not erase from my mind the picture of a bigger, older man holding a boy of just 10 captive, while raping him anally. Now, after reading the grand jury testimony, which includes details about how Sandusky "gave Victim 1 a number of gifts, including golf clubs, a computer, gym clothes, dress clothes and cash," as well as "took him to restaurants, swimming at a hotel . . . and to church," I'm reminded of the grooming I experienced as a young girl myself.

My molester didn't create a charity whereby he could have access to "hundreds of boys, many of whom were vulnerable due to their social situations" and which was "dedicated to helping children with absent or dysfunctional families." But he targeted girls from such families, who were equally vulnerable as Sandusky's victims.

When I wrote Sister of Silence, I did so because I wanted to help people understand what this type of crime looks like. I wanted to help protect other children. I also wanted to alert parents as to how they can avoid having their children targeted by these molesters.

The only reason Ken Lanning even agreed to write the book's foreword is because I describe exactly what it feels like to be among the majority of sexual abuse victimizations. That's right: most children are sexually abused just like I was, and just like Sandusky's victims.

How is that, exactly? Well, we were seduced or groomed, and we were complicit in our abuse. That means we took an active role, perhaps enjoying the gifts bestowed upon us, or returning to our abuser, because we craved the attention of a positive role model.

And Lanning, after spending 30 years as an FBI special agent, testifying at hundreds (if not more) of cases that involve child victims, and having written the manuals for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, says these cases are the norm.

So much for the big, bad stranger in a black trenchcoat lurking behind a tree. (Please see "Parents Beware: Misconceptions about the Natascha Kampusch case all too common.") Most of them instead look like Sandusky: a grandfatherly type, with an easy smile and pleasant personality. That our society continues to hold tight to the myth of stranger-danger is a travesty that permits crimes like Sandusky's to go unnoticed for 30 years. Lanning knows this is common, and he says so in my book's foreword.

Sadly, sometimes even when parents are alert to the danger, as was Victim 6's mother after her son returned from a stint with Sandusky and told her they showered together, when the accused is someone prestigious, an investigation into the crime at hand is only cursory.

Anyone in the law enforcement community with an ounce of commitment toward helping children should have known Sandusky's admission of guilt went far deeper than simply apologizing for a mere shower, or a hug. "I understand. I was wrong. I wish I could get forgiveness. I know I won't get it from you. I wish I were dead," Sandusky told the boy's mother.

Children have become a casualty in today's social climate, where parents are too busy for their child's own good, and where trusted family friends (or coaches or priests or scout leaders) become convenient stand-ins for an overworked or absent parent.

In the past, parents tried to silence their children upon learning of such crimes, usually from a fear of shame coming upon the family name. Today, we stand at a crossroads: society can choose to continue to deny that people like Sandusky wouldn't hurt a child, or people like Paterno wouldn't permit it, and it will just be business as usual.

For its part, Penn State needs to do anything and everything it can to show its moral compass has changed, and it will no longer conduct business as usual. From Cleveland school teacher Rick Shartzer comes this idea about how the institution can do that: "What you permit you promote! Joe Paterno needs to be fired, and if Penn State University doesn't have the humanity and character to cancel this weeks game, then ESPN needs to step up and BLACKOUT the game."

Shartzer got his first wish late last night. But Penn State, which should be held accountable for the huge culpability it has in this matter, due not just for its failure to report these crimes, but because it allowed Sandusky to operate his charity, The Second Mile, from the campus. Let's see if Penn State has the guts to grant Shartzer's second wish.

If it does cancel Saturday's game, the college won't redeem itself entirely. But it can show it has indeed learned something of lasting value from this tragedy. Especially where football is more like a modern-day Molech than a national pastime, and where the mindset is making money at all costs.

Or society—we the people—can remember the legacy we leave behind will cause future generations to judge us harshly, and condemn us for the ignorance, shame and cowardice we so often display, in cases like these.

I don't know about you, but I choose the child. After all, didn't Jesus say "the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these?" Seems like he had his priorities straight. It may be too late for Penn State to learn from him, but it isn't for you and me. The lives of our children—who are, after all, society's greatest asset—depend upon it.

Posted by Daleen at 05:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Updated Dec. 6, 2011: The new and improved e-book was uploaded recently and is now available here: Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Smashwords (for iPads and in most other formats). The current version available at iTunes is NOT the revised ebook. Please hold off on buying it there until further notice. (We're awaiting Apple's approval for the new file we submitted. The minute we get the green light, we'll tell you.) Thank you for your patience and for bearing with us during this process.

**********
I’ve been debating whether to make a Netflix-like executive decision: you know, one of those rash, rushed calls that don’t take into account the consequences of one’s actions—be it lost customers or lost profits.

Having reached this decision and without further ado, I am pulling the e-Book version of Sister of Silence from the shelves, so to speak. The company we (Nellie Bly Books, LLC) hired to convert my paperback book into an electronic file so as to be available to the masses has not been able to correct the errors that crept in during the conversion process.

Since I’ve been debating this action for about three weeks now, I’d say mine is less of a Netflix-inspired managerial move, and more like that of Elton Mayo. He’s the Harvard business professor who conducted a worker productivity study at the Western Electric Hawthorne plant in Chicago back in the 1930’s. What Mayo was looking for was whether a change in lighting conditions inside the plant helped, or hurt, employee productivity.

What Mayo found was increased productivity—but it had nothing to do with the lights. Instead, it had everything to do with listening to the employees’ wants, needs and concerns.

The Hawthorne Effect, as it’s come to be called, essentially means this: An organization cannot succeed if it doesn’t listen to its employees (or customers, as the case may be).

We are listening to our customers, because we recognize first, that the customer is always right. Second, we know that without a good, solid, quality product, we cannot sustain the word-of-mouth advertising necessary for our company to succeed. And without our customers, we don’t have a business.

We did not spend 20 years crafting a product that has been edited and proofread dozens of times, and which took a first-place award in a state writing competition, just to see it fall on its face because of a conversion process that renders it hard to read. As readers ourselves, we demand nothing less from a book—be it paperback or electronic—than any other reader would: it must hold one’s attention, it must flow well and the transitions must be smooth and seamless. In its current form, the Sister of Silence e-Book does none of this.

Until we can produce an e-Book that does, please do not purchase any versions of our e-Book until we state here, on this site, that it has our blessing, and is good to go.

The “we” I refer to is mostly me, since I own Nellie Bly Books. But it also refers to the dozens, if not hundreds, of people who have helped me market Sister of Silence by word-of-mouth, by loaning out their own copy, or by dropping off copies at local colleges and libraries, women’s shelters, police stations and hospitals. It certainly refers to anyone who’s spent a dime on an e-Book that contains errors.

If you are one of those customers and you are unhappy, please email your receipt to me showing the date of purchase and the price you paid, and I will happily provide you with your choice of either a PDF copy of Sister of Silence, or one in paperback.

If there is anything I’ve learned from being a reporter, it’s that accuracy is everything. And mediocrity is unacceptable.

Editor's note: Please email me at daleen[dot]berry[at]gmail[dot]com. (My apologies, but the spammers make it necessary to do this.)

If you haven't yet done so, but you'd love to read the book, you can buy it here: Nellie Bly Books

Posted by Daleen at 07:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)