From Striver to Survivor to "Thriver"

Gail Hutchison

Sexual Assault Services Coordinator, Outer Banks (NC) Hotline

Received as Member, Bethesda Presbyterian Church – March 14, 2010

 From Striver to Survivor to "Thriver”

 Church Luncheon presentation -- March 14, 2010

Striver

I first met Chuck¹ at St. Andrews Presbyterian College and admired his open faith with the College Christian Council. The group was at such ease with their faith, it seemed to me. I was Striving to fit into my own comfortable Christian skin but it always seemed rather contrived not natural, as it seemed to be for Chuck and the others. Chuck said that he once saw me deep in conversation with St. A’s spiritual leader, Dr. Covington. Being fresh out of a nurturing environment of Potomac and St. Mark Presbyterian Churches² and then being rather flung into a much looser setting, I struggled to figure how it was all supposed to fit. I strived, really hard, to work for a more comfortable relationship with God … but quietly slipped it to a lower priority. Shelved it. Threw myself instead into my theatre degree – getting a resume together for the Big World of Theatre and arts, performing in the outdoor drama “The Lost Colony” my Sophomore through Senior year …

I got my Church through all that. I thought.

I received a BA in theatre arts in 1983. Also, a MRS, as in Married Right out of School, which lasted a cool 7 1/2 months. Right before I threw in that towel, we went to the church that Dr. Covington was a pastor of, to see if there was anything left to salvage. An hour of caterwauling … and was promptly handed the divorce papers in the church parking lot.

From there, I gave myself a good shake off and then accepted my friend Beth Jones invite to join her journey into the world of film in Wilmington, NC -- home of Dino De Laurentiis’ film studios. There, I landed a job on the film “Marie: A True Story” and worked as a driver and personal assistant to the cinematographer. I also picked up a dicey cocaine habit – which of course I had a firm handle on, haha – until after the film, aka money to buy the stuff, ended.

That summer, with no films looming in the future, I returned to the Outer Banks, to work that summer of 1985 at The Lost Colony. Got my final divorce papers, beat the cocaine addiction and landed a cool cooking job after the show ended. No theatre, but I was just going to work a few months, and then head up to Richmond to stay with a friend and hopefully get a props apprentice position with TheatreVirginia in the spring …

In late September, the 24th to be exact, I ran into a friend’s restaurant to pick him up; his car was in the shop. He had left his smokes in the car and asked if I’d run back out and get them.

And that is when my life turned changed forever. As I unlocked the car, I was grabbed from behind, shoved in, and raped. Didn’t know this person. ‘Don’t say a word’ was the only thing this person said to me. I did not say a word.

It became very silent in my mind, from bright light to dark black … surreal as it was happening … I lost my mind … and my brain slammed shut. From feeling fantastic to a shattered atom …

Done.

I gathered up my being after he left, went and got my friend, dropped him off and then went home. Never told him. He left for his next job the next day, as was his plan.

I sat in my apartment for three days. I was silent. Numb. Unfeeling. Unresponsive to my self. Dead. What had just happened to me? As I think back to those three days, I recall that I never prayed, never asked God the Why question. I never asked for strength, guidance. Silent. ‘Don’t say a word.’ Ok, I won’t. And I didn’t. Didn’t tell anyone for a very long time. And still haven’t told my parents.

Survivor

The next five years were a blur. I went to Richmond the following week, worked at several theatre companies and a PBS series in Chapel Hill. Went to Charlotte, and worked with theatre companies, commercials and another film or two. Busy, Busy, Busy … If you get really busy living, you don’t need to deal with the DEAD stuff inside. I ignored it, didn’t do a dang thing with what had happened in September. Ignored the date of September 24 every year. Busy, Busy, Busy … Making a lot of white noise, so I couldn’t hear my thoughts … my silent soul and heart screams, as it were.

In the late fall of 1989, I decided to return to the Outer Banks. I was worn out from not thinking, not Listening to what had happened to me and figure out what I could do to move IT from the place of Dead to the place of Dealing With It.

I met a wonderful man, and received a job as fulltime babysitter to three fantastic children, Erin, Jade and Max, and just chilled out. In November my boyfriend suggested I take the local Crisis intervention centers crisis line training. He felt I would be a good phone volunteer. Hmmm …

And this was where my life took another startling change. When the group got to the section of Rape and Sexual Assault, I realized that I had to finally turn around and face what had happened to me, in my car, on that night of September 24th. I could no longer run from IT. Instead, I had to Listen to what the instructor was saying. I had to switch off the white noise, Listen to my brain, soul, heart and become very quiet again. I had to take what was being said TO me and make IT a PART of me. Wow … Unreal. I felt like was able to take a pure breath again … breathe … Listen …

In January, the executive director of Hotline called me. She asked if I would be interested in becoming the Sexual Assault Services Coordinator. I told her I had a BA in theatre, not in anything else. She became quiet and then said, ‘Really … nothing else?’ And so that was how I became the person who had chosen for so long not to Listen, now Listening: to women and men, boys and girls tell their stories of their IT. As I drove the first time to the hospital to be with MY first victim, I became crystal clear aware of the fact that this person was trusting ME, relying on ME to do the right thing by her.  And for the first time in six years, I found myself praying to God for some kind of sign, some kind of strength to do the right thing by her …

And He Listened. And I Listened. And I heard … and heard and heard …

Thriver

Nearly a quarter century has passed since September 24th, 1985. Men brutalized, Children’s trust shattered. Women seen as holes, receptacles and nothing more. I have seen things I wish I could erase. I have smelled things I wish I could forget. I have heard things that made me weep inside while holding on to a hand, a shoulder.

Two years ago, I learned that months before I became the babysitter of Erin, Jade and Max, they too had been victims, sexually assaulted by the last babysitter’s husband. Now, after brave Jade came to my office one day, sat down and said, ‘I need to tell you something, will you Listen?’ I did. I am Listening to them as adults, giving them the tools to turn the white noise off … getting ready for court. I hadn’t learned to listen yet, when I was their sitter. Thank God they trust me now as adults …

I have learned how to become very still. Quiet. Listen. The centering is the hardest par … not interjecting … not trying to solve. Listening, allowing each person to find that first gem of getting some control back. Whether they are laying on a gurney, sitting in my office, on the phone. Writing an email. In a facebook chat. No white noise anymore but full blown silence, which is where I can Listen FOR others’ heart and soul screams … whether out loud, in hints or in eyes … or sighs.

I have learned that God is that way, too. We are always asking for Him to Do something for us, or others. But God speaks through every pore of each body; we just need to turn off all the white noise and become one with whomever we are talking WITH, not to or at. The hints are there. And if they go without being recognized and honored, by a nod, touch, gentle word … then a moment that is so clear for that person is lost. Often forever …

When Chuck came back to the east coast, to my land of Winston Churchill High School and Potomac, we started our conversations about joining this church. I double dog dared him to wrap his head around my becoming a member – what our St. Andrews friend and now Reverend Mark Stanley calls a ‘Non-Geographic church member.’ I think he was happy for me to join, but concerned about the distance of the church to me –  not the physical distance so much but the mental and spiritual distance.

In my eyes, I am here 100%, soul and heart wise. As your Session already has heard, I will stay in touch through your wonderful website, through Chuck and his sermons, and visits to the Outer Banks! Hey, friend me on Facebook! And I will tithe! I might not be physically here, but I will be with you…and having this church, you, and God as my anchor, I will never be lost from the Spirit again.

I have become as whole as I will ever be. I certainly never thought that what I am doing now was really what I had been Striving for my entire adult life. To be in this drama called life … and to listen to life’s drama. My challenge to you as a congregation of this wonderful church is simple: Be the caring, loving, listening congregation that I can feel that you already are. The healing will not always apparent to you, the Listeners, but when a person feels they are being HEARD, then the process can begin. And with that, can slowly become Surviving and then ultimately Thriving.

Amen. Thank you for being a part of my new spiritual life. Thank you for listening, each and every day … xo

¹Chuck Booker-Hirsch – then Chuck Booker – now Pastor of Bethesda Presbyterian Church

²Potomac and St. Mark Presbyterian Churches are congregations not far from BPC. Gail lived in Potomac with her family during her middle school and high school years.