The Story of My Life: The Mosaic Life
By Martha Wade
ORANGE, CA (ANS) -- Someone
once told me that I see life from a broken perspective. The person's
intent was not to be complimentary. I sat there stone silent. The words
I had to defend myself and my view of life and people got trapped in my
head, bantering back and forth. "You'll sound weak if you bring up your
child molestation." "Nobody cares. You'll just be tagged the victim."
 |
Gary and Martha Wade seek to demonstrate an
authentic love to their
children, Bailey (9) and Ryder (5). |
"Oo, do not go there! You will not represent
women in leadership as strong and competent!"
"Just let him speak his mind. It does not really matter what
you think." "Shut up already!"
Our world is filled with brokenness. People are broken in
relationships and by circumstances. but just because we are broken does
not mean we are beyond repair, although do we admit this fragility?
The heart of the matter is behind the plastered smiles or
the
invisible walls we erect out of pride, shame, and guilt. Does weakness
come out of truthfulness or vulnerability? Come on, most of us are
hiding behind some type of brokenness, afraid of what others will
think. We fear another relationship will be shattered if we are real.
We are concerned if people know who we really are; they would run the
other way. Or we panic about the consequences, if we stand up to those
who abuse their position and power. But I believe it is time to break
free.
Life is a mosaic: a work of art composed of pieces of
colored
stones, glass, or broken tiles. Colored stones and glass are seen as
treasures, but those broken tiles standing alone would be discarded. To
a mosaic artist each is precious when in its proper place. It just
takes work and proper perspective to see where these shards will fit
into the masterpiece. The artist has to sort through these elements to
determine how the finished product will best be created. And then we
stand back as the observer in awe at the beauty of such a work of art.
My life is composed of many gems that stand alone in their
beauty. I have two "diamonds in the rough" a beautiful and spunky
nine-year-old daughter and a sport-loving, energetic five-year-old son.
I am blessed to have a gem of a husband for over a decade who loves me,
in spite of my broken past. Friends and family members also enable my
work of art, called life, to be invaluable.
Countless gems decorate the foundation of my life. The
brilliance of one enhances the beauty of another. The color of
personalities and other's experiences make my pallet one to be
cherished. But cemented next to those pieces of my life that are to be
envied, lay past memories, which attempt to dull the radiance of the
jewels of my life. One piece especially fragmented and splintered as I
began to deal with it and the effects it had on my life.
For at least five years, I endured the reoccurring
molestation
by one of my parents' best friends. Years later my dad shared that he
had questioned "Uncle Art's" outward display of affection. "I don't
like the way he's kissing her." My dad's gem of discernment, shattered
by false assumptions.
"Oh, he's a Christian man who just loves kids, and they
don't have any of their own," my mom replied.
Who knew this "friendship" was an intentional setup to lour
me
into a trap of ongoing sexual abuse? From "Uncle Art's" eyes I was a
prime target, since I was not receiving outward affection from my
father. For, my dad had attended a conservative university, which
instilled convictions to be appropriate physically and not blur any
lines of outward display of affection. So, "Uncle Art" moved into that
role, starting with seemingly appropriate display of the "affection" of
an "uncle," and then moving into complete and utter illegal and
violating sexual acts. Despite the fact that what "Uncle Art" would do
to me made me uncomfortable, I just kept quiet. I did as I was told and
obeyed my elders.
I had mastered the art of acting, not only for covering up
for
what was occurring behind closed doors at "Uncle Art's," but also
because it was my career. At the age of four I began acting
professionally, including commercials, soap operas, sit-coms, and more.
Acting became my life both in front of the camera and in my personal
existence.
The results, in hindsight, were painfully obvious, as an
elementary-aged child juggling the professional world of an acting
career, the lack of childhood experiences due to adult
responsibilities, and the burden of a secret, I felt like an outcast. I
had no idea how to fit in appropriately, because the only way I felt
loved and rewarded was by doing what others told me to do, whether it
be a director or my perpetrator. This same type of pattern was set in
the friendships I did have.
I longed to fit in with my peers, at any cost I had an
inner-battle taking place inside of me, I had convictions instilled in
me by my parents and church, but my desire to be loved and accepted
seemed to scream out for fulfillment. So, I would do just enough to fit
in, but not enough to be seemingly addicted or to the point of feeling
disparity. I was working under the false belief that no one could love
me for who I was, I had to do something to earn love and acceptance.
While that broken part of my life was difficult, it led to
an
even harsher jagged edge. It is the one part of my life I most grieve
and am ashamed of. I had few kid friendships, and most of those were
sexual in nature, which is very common for molested children. "Uncle
Art" had implanted a seed of sexuality that took a foothold in my life.
My closest friends were all seeking acceptance and didn't get a sense
of acceptance without inappropriate physical contact either. We masked
it in playing doctor or practicing for our future mate, but it was a
skewed sense of reality. I have no idea if any of these kids were
sexually abused, but I am confident they were, and somehow we knew how
to find one another.
I had this type of relationship with a handful of boys and
girls; all of them came from broken homes, except myself. I remember
feeling trapped, and not wanting to do much of what was being asked of
me by the various kids, but I disassociated, so as not to lose the few
friends I had. I could not say, "No." I felt like a marionette being
manipulated by my strings, and I couldn't cut the ties with any of
these relationships, they were all I had outside of my work.
When I started to experience the signs of puberty in seventh
grade, I schemed on how to manipulate my circumstances when I was being
"babysat" by "Uncle Art." I did not want him to discover the physical
changes that were happening, and I truly desired relationships with
boys my own age. My acting skills once again paid off. I gave my
parents half-truths in order to avoid time with "Art" and figured out
ways to manipulate my space and interactions to avoid physical
contract. While I never received an Emmy for my television roles, I
sure should have a mantle-full for all the performances I gave over the
years.
By eighth grade, like most girls, I constantly was pushed
beyond my convictions. When my boundaries got pushed, I would say,
"no," and then the guy would try again, so I would laugh so as not to
reject him. I was trying to deter him and play "cute." All the while
screaming inside, "STOP!" I wanted more than a physical relationship; I
wanted to be loved for who I was, I was not just a girl who guys could
count the bases they had earned while spending some time with me! But
my voice had been silenced behind closed doors.
My parents had instilled in me to wait to have sex before I
was
married. My head was filled with justifications between a lying pack of
trolls fighting with my parents' moral flock of angels.
The lie that I was only worthy of someone's affection if I
made
them happy and satisfied their needs was planted in me by "Art"
deafened any other means I had to fight back.
The jagged edges of the pieces I was being handed caused me
to
discount the real gems. My parents and God would end up loving me no
matter what I did. As for my friends, it was all about image, there was
not room for convictions. Three of my greatest fans might be
disappointed, but my friends weren't so quick to forgive and forget if
I were completely honest. But I didn't care, I was finally popular and
that was all that seemed to matter.
My friends and I were so mean to girls who wanted to be part
of
our group, but did not fit the criteria of physical attributes or
fashion attire. We shoved rotten bananas in her locker to move her out
and claim our territory. For one who had grown up being bullied, you
would think I would have stopped these heartless acts, but no. I had to
convince myself that popularity had its costs. And while I couldn't
control my friends and what they deemed acceptable, I was bound and
determined not to be the victim here. So, I took my own personal
brokenness and turn that tile side wards and dug its jagged edge deep
into the heart of kind-hearted compassionate people, who were just
trying to be authentic.
The winter of 1981, I realized how twisted I had become, and
how far off I had gotten away from the foundation that had been
established in my childhood. A night at camp changed my life. The
speaker asked if we were part of a group that ostracized kids.
"No way; not us!" Then the flock of angels chimed in with a
list of names of our victims. I woke up to the fact that I did not like
the person I had become. I broke with true humiliation and humility. I
wanted to break down the walls that created an unhealthy fa�ade. I
wanted to reach out to people, regardless of their level of popularity.
I wanted to develop healthy relationships, without expecting anything
in return, and not compromise my personal convictions.
In my freshman year of college, the design of the person
that
had been under construction for three years seemed to shatter. The
person I was becoming fragmented and I did not know what to do with the
pieces crushed before me.
I had been working on a TV sit-com for about nine months.
During much of this time, it was just part of the job to endure
unwanted sexual innuendoes and touching. This is actually pretty common
on most sets. I usually just played along, just as I had seen most
actors do throughout my career. But, something snapped in me, and when
an executive on the production grabbed my behind, and I defended my
values instead of hiding behind my shame and embarrassment. "Take your
hands off my rear-end. There's my teacher."
My studio teacher was supposed to be my advocate if anything
illegal took place on the set. Unfortunately, the times were different,
and it was not popular or politically correct to report sexual
harassment. It seems like a shift occurred years later when the
infamous sexual harassment case of Anita Hill verses Clarence Thomas
was publicized for all to view. My friend jokingly says, "Too bad you
were sexually harassed before your time."
However, this was no joke, a few weeks after this incident,
and
my eighteenth birthday, I was fired. The union admitted we had no
recourse; they missed some loopholes in my contract.
While on a callback interview for a new show, I was asked
why I
was no longer on my sit-com. I thought to myself, "It pays to be
honest, right?!"
Who knew that one of his close friends was an executive in
on
that meeting?! I received a letter from a lawyer to cease and dismiss.
From there on out, the work I got was very slim.
This incident seemed to throw me in a reverse that I
couldn't
end. One day as I drove on Hilgard Avenue, a curved street adjacent to
UCLA, I thought, "If I just drive straight, this will all be over."
At that moment, I felt like I heard a booming voice from
above, "I gave you life, who are you to take it away?!"
God had not created me to be destroyed by mere circumstance.
Live above your circumstance.
I did not have a clue how I was going to press on, but a
rush of
peace overwhelmed me. What seconds ago was a pile of inferior, shards
of broken dreams, expectations, and relationships remained broken and
hurtful, but I gained a newfound perspective by backing up. I did not
need to understand the why of my circumstance. I did not need to
torture myself for standing up for what I knew was right. I did not
need to run from something that seemed insurmountable, for I was not
alone.
My pity turned into an aggressive spirit to overcome
whatever I
had to face. However it was not until seven years later that I honestly
began to exam my brokenness as it related to the rooting effects of
child molestation.
On September 27, 1992, the silence at last was broken
publicly.
With much grief in his heart and voice, our church's senior pastor
informed the congregation of "Art's" admission of guilt to being a
pedophile, and read a letter of "apology" from "Art." Let's just say
the letter's ambiguous admission actually did more harm than good. The
words, "I violated some girls' comfort zones," made us sick to my
stomach.
However, the church rallied around the women who were
victimized by "Art." They gave us the counsel that we all had needed
for years, through group therapy with only his victims and professional
individual counseling paid for by a trust set up with the perpetrator's
monies. We now had a safe place to go and tell the truth about this
once revered and trusted man.
When this all came out I still wanted to protect "Art" and
his
wife, "Gayle," who was an accomplice. I began the healing process, but
was not angry or ready to turn the blame on the guilty. I just found
comfort in my memories being validated by those around me who had
experienced the same.
I was guilty of nothing. No shame or guilt was mine to bear.
And I still nearly burst a gasket when I hear people defend people who
appear to have used their position and power to deceive unassuming
children and trusting parents, without giving a voice to the possible
victims of the molestation. People such as "Art" use their position of
authority to gain access to children who are enthralled by the monetary
rewards and the focused attention. There is truth to people being
wolves in sheep's clothing.
So what about now? What about those who experienced the
abuse?
Let us focus on what we can change to break free. We must
dig
down into our pasts, in the dust and pieces of our broken parts. We
have to sort through the brokenness that makes us who we are. We need
to take the risk of being cut deeply by those experiences that seemed
to break us to our very core.
While we want to throw those jagged pieces away, that is not
a
reality. Examine those pieces; discover how you can use them to better
yourself and then eventually others. For example, protect your
children. Trust that inner voice, which enables you to discern who is
safe. Do not throw away your pasts, learn from them, do not wade in
shame and guilt. Once you have come to this understanding, take that
sliver and place it the mortar of the foundation of your mosaic, and
when it butts its sharp edge recall how it affects you, but does not
manipulate you.
I chuckled when I found the distributor of mosaic art
entitled
Piece by Peace. That is the reward of identifying with and experiencing
the mosaic life, when once we have discovered, identified, worked with
the pieces of our life and we ultimately experience a peace beyond
description, that is what makes it art.
We can believe that we have a Master Artist who will take
each
of those pieces and create a work of art in us, using each and every
fragment. We just have to get His perspective and stand way back to see
the mosaic in you, a masterpiece in process.
Choose to live a Mosaic Life, rather than a broken life.
More about Martha Wade
 |
Martha Wade sets out to empower individuals to be empowered
against
sexual abuse and its effects, sharing her experience and
knowledge
with truth and courage. |
Martha has had tremendous success as a former child actress,
co-starring on The Waltons, Days of Our Lives, and Safe at Home, and
continues to be active as:
* Director
* Choreographer
* Singer
* Writer
* Informative Speaker
But her life has also met with challenges as a victim of
child
molestation. Today Martha unifies her various life experiences and
expertise to unveil the truths surrounding this taboo subject. She has
taken this message beyond the United States, to Mexico, Brazil, and
Indonesia. Martha's message is powerful. It offers insight, knowledge,
courage, and empowerment ot prevent child molestation and to offer
healing tools for those recovering from various types of brokenness,
including divorce and sexual abuse.
Her passion is to educate and empower adults and children to
avoid becoming victims, and present answers and viable techniques and
tools, offering hope and strength to victims in the aftermath. Through
her artistic talents, and her vulnerability, she creates a safe and
appropriate environment to discuss the tendencies of sexual assault,
without unleashing the disturbing details concerning her own abuse.
For booking e-mail marthaw@aquarterblue.org
OR call (714)932-0845. Visit www.aquarterblue.org.
