When “Good” People Do Bad Things

And how shame keeps victims silent

When I started reading Tom Jacobson’s piece (see link below) about the Fallen Swami, I already knew how it would end. When he said his story was about broken trust, I felt a wave of fear and dread taking over my body. When he got to the part about the hand on the thigh, the memories of sheer terror and helplessness flooded my brain.

According to a nonprofit called Stop Street Harassment 81 percent of women and 43 percent of men have experienced some form of sexual harassment at some point in their lives. The Me Too movement was created to show just how widespread sexual violence, sexual harassment, and assault really are in our society. I already knew that I wasn’t alone.

Tom Jacobson’s story reminded me of my own experience when I was a young girl full of passion for changing the world. I was sixteen years old and instead of dating my peers, I was fully involved in my Protestant church youth group. We believed that we could unite the world and we were going to start by making friends with the friars at a monastery in our town.

The Franciscan Friars of Atonement are a deeply spiritual community devoted to healing, charity, and ecumenism. We worked together with them collecting food for the hungry, furniture for their center in New York, and support for needy families. We attended each other church services and encouraged people to join the movement.

My friend, Linda, and I became close friends with many of the young men in the novice group. We discussed religion, psychology, philosophy, and how we could make the world a better place. We were dizzy with dreams of creating a new loving community around the planet.

I was 17 years old in 1969 when the government issued the lottery for the draft for the Vietnam War. This meant that eligible young men could be forced to stop whatever they were doing to be trained to kill and sent away to fight. Conscientious objectors found their way to the monastery as an alternative to being sent to a war that no one wanted.

While most of our friends in the novice group were only a few years older than us, one person seemed quite a bit older. His name was Regis. He offered to help us, I suppose now we might refer to him as a mentor. Sometimes, he would take me and Linda out for coffee or lunch to discuss our futures. Since we were still in high school we appreciated his attention and concern.

Linda and I chose to attend the same local college and we remained close to our friends in the monastery. Sometimes, Regis would invite me to go out with him without Linda but I always declined. One time when we were all out to dinner and Linda went to the bathroom, Regis slipped his hand under the table and squeezed my thigh. I froze. Linda returned to the table and we never said a word about it. I felt embarrassed and confused.

One evening, Regis called me to tell me that he and Linda had been having sex in a car and the door opened and they both believed that it was a sign from God that they weren’t meant to be together. And somehow, they both got the message that God wanted me to be with Regis and he was leaving the monastery.

I know, in my now more mature brain, how utterly outrageous this sounds.

But, at the time, my nineteen-year-old brain thought that God might have really spoken to them. And that I might really be the chosen one. So, when Regis proposed, I reluctantly agreed to be engaged to him.

He confessed that he was sterile and would not be able to have children. So, imagine my surprise, after giving up my virginity, when I discovered that I was pregnant. I was mortified when I confronted him. He was overjoyed.

I asked him how this could have been possible if he was sterile. He said it must have been a miracle. I asked him why he thought he was sterile and he said that no one that he had been with before had ever gotten pregnant. And he said, best of all, now I would have to marry him. He had a very smug grin on his face.

I still remember that moment of absolute crystal clear clarity. I knew that I did not want to spend my life with someone who had lied, manipulated, and created this situation. I remember thinking that God does not operate this way.

I told him that I did not want to be engaged to him any longer. I remember his hand making contact with my face and the streams of blood flowing from my nose. Perhaps it was the shock but I suddenly felt very tiny and removed from the world around me. I don’t know how long I stayed in a little heap on the ground.

When I finally got the strength to stand up I knew what I had to do.

I told him that I was going to terminate the pregnancy and he said I would go to hell if I did. I told him that whatever I did was between me and God. He told all of our friar friends what I was planning to do and they said they would stop being friends with me if I had an abortion. No one called out Regis for having sex, lying about being sterile, and using God’s name to get what he wanted.

Abortion was illegal in my state. I will always be grateful to Planned Parenthood as they supported me and connected me to an underground network of helpers. I was also grateful to God that I had options and I felt that He understood.

Still, I cried all the way to the abortion center and back. Four hours each way by train. All by myself. I was broken-hearted and frightened, but I was absolutely certain that I was doing the right thing. I have never doubted my decision.

I understand how devastating it is to be deceived by someone, especially a trusted person in a spiritual capacity. But, perhaps the truly awful part was the shame I carried with me. I was made to feel that it was all my fault. Our friends abandoned me and they never spoke to me again.

And I have never spoken about it until now.

Today, I realize the power of telling our stories. I have children and grandchildren. I want them to understand that some people will use their power to take advantage of them. I want them to trust themselves and speak out if they feel uncomfortable. I want them to know that sometimes “good” people do bad things. s

Lissa Rankin describes herself as a physician, healer, author, artist, speaker, visionary, mystic, and activist committed to healing health care. She is a leading voice in the movement to call out leaders in the healing and spiritual communities who misuse and abuse vulnerable people.

Through her books, teachings, and non-profit organization, she is helping victims heal their trauma. I highly recommend her if you or someone you know has had similar experiences. If you would like to learn more about her work you can go to her website.

Here is Tom Jacobson’s story.

I am hopeful that by sharing our stories we will heal our wounds and empower others. If you have had a similar experience, you do not have to feel shame about what happened to you. People are here to help you. You do not have to remain silent, please feel free to speak out! This is how we will truly make the world a better place.