Truth: Telling Little Jonathan's Story

How telling the truth about being sexually abused by my grandfather has set me free.

< trigger warning: discussion of childhood trauma and sexual abuse >

It’s become so real to me the past three years:

Truth sets us free.

We hear it all the time. It’s so commonplace, a proverbial expression, ancient wisdom... But over the last three years, nothing has become more real to me. 

Or more important. 

Because I’ve learned that truth-telling is the only thing that can truly free us from 

The bondage of trauma. 

We often fear truth, or rather, we fear the consequences that might accompany telling the truth. The ramifications. The impact, the possible backlash or disbelief or rejection… Because when truth has been hidden, whether consciously or unconsciously, it is done so to protect something or someone - and oftentimes something or someone that we have been trained or programmed to believe has power over us, or over those we love.

We might get in trouble. 

And we learn from a very young age to avoid being in trouble. Especially if being in trouble meant for us that we might be punished. Harmed. Or shamed. 

So to avoid pain - for ourselves or others - we hide, avoid, dismiss, bury and even dissociate from… 

Truth.

It’s too painful.

In the most twisted and tragic irony, we hold painful secrets hidden in the deep recesses of our hearts, minds, and bodies, trying to avoid… pain. We carry pain to avoid pain.

Because we don’t want to get in trouble.

We don’t want anyone to get hurt.

And this is exactly how monsters, like my grandfather, J.T. Bristow, get away with evil.

They know this is how it works, and they use the systems in place to protect themselves by covering up the 

Truth.

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My grandfather was larger than life. 

Magnetic. 

Charismatic. 

A John Wayne-esque bravado…

The life of every party and conversation. 

He was a dynamic and influential preacher and public speaker, teacher, trainer, and renown - in the churches of Christ - as a personal evangelist and “soul winner” for Jesus, eventually launching his own company, Gospel Outreach Publishers, which was a vehicle for his books and other materials to be distributed literally all over the globe in multiple languages.

He was also a child molester. 

That’s the truth.

My grandfather, J.T. Bristow, whom we all affectionately called “Granddad,” 

Sexually abused me as a young child.

And I was not the first, nor his only victim, but I never told anyone.

I didn’t want to get in trouble. 

The truth is, my Granddad was a mastermind. He was my childhood hero. My safe person. And we went on many… adventures together.

But as profoundly traumatizing as some of the moments I spent with that man were to my mind and body and spirit as a young boy, I was made to feel like our time was special together. I also didn’t know any better. And, on top of all of that, 

Granddad was scary as hell.

Really. Fucking. Scary.

That larger than life, 6’4”, 275 pound preacher-man had an anger in him so fierce, so petrifying, that we all knew we dare not cross him. Because it might mean getting it with the belt. Or worse.

He was a monster.

So I hid it away. I trusted him. I wanted to be a good boy. And I also didn’t want to get hurt. I never told anyone. I buried it, and dissociated from it. My brain put it away… 

But my body never forgot.

It lived in there all my life. Subconsciously haunted me all my life. A darkness lurking in me, but something I was unable to pinpoint or figure out, despite the pain and disconnect and deep shame and brokenness I always felt… until my body finally decided it was time to bring it back into my consciousness. 

___________________

My Landslide happened July 30th, 2020, three years ago today. That was when I recovered

My truth.

If you’ve been following my writing, you’ll recall my speaking about my landslide/avalanche day in my first blog, spark, a few months ago. 

On that day of collapse three years ago, in the safety of the living room (and in the arms) of two most cherished friends and mentors, I was asked the question that turned out to be the key to unlock the deep recesses of my mind and body: “What does little Jonathan say?”

Little Jonathan had never been asked before.

But he sure did know the answer. 

For the first time, Little Jonathan was able to tell the truth that day.

He was safe. He knew there were three adults (including grown-up Jonathan) in the room that would protect him. That would listen. That would believe him. That he could trust.

In a heap, trembling, and through the tears and agony, my journey toward freedom started on that living room floor.

I knew after this revelation I just had to speak to my Aunt Cara… 

Who lives in Texas, far away from our family in the Pacific Northwest. Because now that I had come to this awareness about my truth, I just had to know her truth…

So I called her later that same day.

I had long been aware that my Aunt Cara had left my grandparents home when she was fifteen. But it was never talked about. It just… was what it was. She lived in Texas. Away from us. She left in high school…

And… silence. All my life.

But I knew…

And now that I knew MY truth, I had to know HER truth.

Because I just knew her truth was my truth…

…And indeed it was.

She was adopted by my grandparents at age 5, and was abused by my grandfather for 10 years, until she was literally rescued and whisked away in an elaborate escape plan orchestrated by women in the church that figured out what was happening and conspired together to send her away to safety after church one Sunday night.

That day, as Cara told me her harrowing story - which was actually the first time she had ever spoken to anyone in our family about all of it - she became my hero.

Because of truth.

Because her truth was my truth.

Because her truth confirmed my truth.

There was nothing left to question.

My grandfather was not only every bit the monster I had always feared - he was way, way worse.

The truth is, I should’ve never met the man. He should’ve been in prison by the time I was born. He should’ve lost his job. He should’ve lost his platform. But none of those things happened. 

__________________

I’ve spent the past three years doing the work. 

Logging the countless hours in therapy. Further uncovering the truth. The sifting. The remembering. In the full breadth of feels. Or the absence of feels. The sleepless nights. For a time, in the deepest depths of despair and depression. 

Certain moments were impossibly brutal and scary for my children. Finding dad collapsed on the kitchen floor sobbing. 

So many moments where I wasn’t sure I could carry on - or wanted to.

But what carried me through my darkest of days was a stubborn (though sometimes ever-so-faint) hope that the truth - eventually - would set me free.

I kept telling my truth. 

Slowly.

Friend by friend. Family member by family member. Sometimes months between one loved one and the next.

It took me two and a half years before I could bring myself to tell my parents. I was so scared for so long, not so much to be in trouble anymore, but of bringing devastation upon them.

But eventually I did it. 

I told them the truth.

And everyone else the truth.

And dammit if I didn’t find that every time I worked up the courage to take the next step, to tell the next loved one in my process - no matter how gut-wrenching the conversation was - that I became a little more whole. A little more healed. A little more free.

__________________

And so that brings me to today. 

To this culminating moment,

On the third anniversary of my Landslide,

To my next step:

Speaking my truth publicly. 

I have had my sites set on this moment for a very long time for three reasons:

The first is for my freedom.

I am done holding the secret in my mind, body, and spirit. Telling my story is for my freedom, because each time I tell the truth I feel a little bit more free. A little bit lighter. The veil and burden of secrecy is lifted from my soul.

And by naming my grandfather now, publicly, telling the truth about who he really was, I finally feel completely free from him.

The second is because I am taking my power back.

I am taking back what was taken from me as a young child. My innocence. My body. My mind. My grandfather no longer has power over me, 

Or my family, 

Or my voice. 

My story is my story. I claim it for what it truly was and is. And I refuse to be silent any longer. All of my life I have struggled feeling powerless, allowing others to have power over me, allowing others and their power and control to silence me.

But no longer. Because I am now taking my power back from the one who originally stole it from me.

Finally, I tell my truth because it is justice.

A reckoning. 

My grandfather died a hero in the eyes of many. He was propped up as a model of faith, zealous and fervent. 

But his true legacy was this hidden one, the untold and immeasurable harm and damage he inflicted upon his own family. No one in my family has escaped the suffering and residual effects of his abuse. It’s generational trauma. We all bear the scars in some way or another.

So telling the truth is about setting the record straight. 

And not just for me. And my family. Or anyone else he harmed that we do not yet know about - though it is for all of us, to be sure.

But even more, this truth is for anyone and everyone else out there who has been harmed - by anyone.  

I’m convinced truth telling unleashes an energy, a force, an inertia of justice into the world. 

Justice that rolls down like mighty waters. 

Truth sets us ALL free.

And so I share my truth because it’s the right thing to do. 

It’s righteousness.

Because we ALL deserve to be free.

We ALL deserve truth.

None of us should bear the pain and trauma of secrets in our bodies.

I deserve to be free.

And you deserve to be free.

And if my truth can set you free, then perhaps your truth can set the next person free.

_____________________

As I am Finding Jonathan, nothing has become more important to me than

Truth.

And I hope you’ll join me on the journey, so that together we can help one-another to overcome darkness by the light of truth. 

So that we may all live freely.