Being in a state of denial is universally human response to situations which threaten to overwhelm. People who were abused as children sometimes carry their denial like precious cargo without apart of destination. It enabled us to survive our childhood experiences, and often we still live in survival mode decades beyond the actual abuse. We protect ourselves to excess because we learned abruptly and painfully that no one else would.

— Sarah E. Olson

Even greater than my fear that l was crazy, was my lifelong dread that someone would find out.

— Sarah E. Olson

Howard: Sometimes a betrayal can be so subtle that it clouds the whole thing. Nita: It would have to be a real betrayal. Not like canceling an appointment. It would be like you’d end the relationship in the middle. Howard: Why would I call it off? Nita: I don’t know!

— Sarah E. Olson

I spent most of my life believing was crazy because all the crazy things I experienced in childhood were treated as nonexistent or normal. This belief colored every decision made, from something so basic as what to wear today, to the more esoteric boundaries of whether I should kill myself. I understood very well that killing myself under the wrong circumstances would establish my insanity forever. So I analyzed every word, every gesture, before committing myself. (Which probably accounts for why I am alive today.)

— Sarah E. Olson

I've been depressed all day. I feel like such a fraud. People say how special and wonderful I am. I think,"Can't they tell? "—Nita, September 18, 1984

— Sarah E. Olson

July 15, 1991Nita: My mother was a paragon of our neighborhood, People always come up to us with hugs, saying "You have the most wonderful mother." l'd think. “Don't you see what's going on in this house?” To this day, if somehow even in jest raises their hand to me, I will do this (raises hands to protect face and cowers) I cringe. Then they look at me like, what's your problem? You don't get that from a great childhood.

— Sarah E. Olson

Nita: I think I overdid the vulnerability stuff in this last letter. And that’s why I’m having an anxiety attack. Howard: With the vulnerability comes the possibility that you’ll be betrayed. Now that you’ve laid yourself wide open, I am the agent of this betrayal? It’s not my style. Nita: I’ve thought it wasn't other people’s style, too.

— Sarah E. Olson

One must consider that small children are virtually incapable of making much impact on their world. No matter what path taken as child, survivors grow up believing they should have done something differently. Perhaps there is no greater form of survivor guilt than “I didn't try to stop it.” Or “I should have told.” The legacy of a helpless, vulnerable, out-of-control, and humiliated child creates an adult who is generally tentative, insecure, and quite angry. The anger is not often expressed, however, as it is not safe to be angry with violent people. Confrontation and conflict are difficult for many survivors.

— Sarah E. Olson

The reality is, no matter what you were told, whatever happened to you as a child was not legally or morally your fault. Abused children are instilled with guilt regarding their "participation." It's an especially complex issue if the abuser is a family member. The child is told and believes that by his word his family will disintegrate, or harm may descend upon other loved ones. He fears he will lose more by telling than not.

— Sarah E. Olson

We say, "It wasn't that bad. It was all my fault. I’m making all this stuff up. "All my life, I spoke bitterly of my mother's treatment of me as a child. Friends asked, “What did she do to you?” I couldn't really describe it, and in frustration would say, “Well, she didn't lock us up in closets.” in fact, my mother behaved much worse than that, but by focusing on the empty closet, I avoided looking at what waited beyond it.

— Sarah E. Olson