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Mary K. Armstrong has written a memoir, Confessions of a Trauma Therapist, about her own discovery that she suffered from sex abuse as a child. She is photographed in her office on August 31, 2010. - Mary K. Armstrong has written a memoir, Confessions of a Trauma Therapist, about her own discovery that she suffered from sex abuse as a child. She is photographed in her office on August 31, 2010. | Sarah Dea/The Globe and Mail

Mary K. Armstrong has written a memoir, Confessions of a Trauma Therapist, about her own discovery that she suffered from sex abuse as a child. She is photographed in her office on August 31, 2010.

Mary K. Armstrong has written a memoir, Confessions of a Trauma Therapist, about her own discovery that she suffered from sex abuse as a child. She is photographed in her office on August 31, 2010. - Mary K. Armstrong has written a memoir, Confessions of a Trauma Therapist, about her own discovery that she suffered from sex abuse as a child. She is photographed in her office on August 31, 2010. | Sarah Dea/The Globe and Mail
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Therapist helped victims of sexual abuse, then she realized she also suffered

Sarah Hampson | Columnist profile | E-mail
From Monday's Globe and Mail

It was a tide of memories, that holiday. They swept in over Christmas, 1984, depositing things she had long submerged. None were good. It would be a Christmas that changed her life – with cruel irony.

Mary Armstrong, a noted Toronto psychotherapist, and her husband Harvey Armstrong, a child and adolescent psychiatrist, had both worked extensively with adults who had suffered sexual abuse as children, but neither had seen all the signs in her. That Christmas, though, they had decided to spend two weeks quietly at home so they could relax.

“Thus it is for other survivors,” Ms. Armstrong writes in her recently published, brutally candid book Confessions of a Trauma Therapist, A Memoir of Healing and Transformation. “When life is good, when our mates are there for us at last, the horrid memories of the past are free to surface. It is as if the memories say, ‘Ah, you are ready for us now.’ ”

Ms. Armstrong is now 72. “It was horrifying and very painful,” she explains in the comfortable book-lined sitting room of her home office, where she still sees patients. Through a focusing technique learned in yoga that helps the mind connect with the body, she realized that both her paternal grandfather and her father had sexually abused her as a young girl.

A period of disbelief and intense self-examination followed. “Can this really be true?” she recalls asking herself. “Can I be making this up? Can I just be making excuses for my own failures in life, my own fallibilities?”

She spoke with therapists, her husband and other mentors. “I really wanted to come from a nice family,” she says with a rueful grimace. “And they looked good.”

She had grown up in Stratford, Ont., a FOOF, or member of a Fine Old Ontario Family, as the saying goes. Her grandfather was a lawyer, her father an engineer. It was a strong, patriarchal upbringing with a maid, a gardener, the use of Dad’s convertible, private school and the expectation that she would grow up to be a good wife, married to a powerful man.

Looking back on her life, she now recognizes the signs of underlying trauma. She was a dreamy child, always looking out the window. As a young wife, she was repelled by the sexual act. Anxiety, unfounded fear and depression plagued her as she matured.

“I didn’t know I was dealing with sex abuse when I began the focusing [technique],” she says. “You develop a relationship with yourself. You let the bodily-felt senses lead you into your subconscious. It might be a lump in your throat or tightness in your neck or back, and we teach people to pay attention to that and stay with that and respect that and follow it so it takes them into a deeper knowing.”

Ms. Armstrong, who founded The Centre for Focusing in Toronto before closing it in 2000 after 13 years to concentrate on her psychotherapy practice, radiates a quiet dignity. The genteel manners are still at work. Her movements are small, self-contained. The expressions on her pretty face don’t speak of the trauma she experienced. Repression is her public face. But there’s nothing demure or diminished about her willingness to reveal the truth.

In her book, she writes about having an illegal abortion when she and her future husband, who arranged for the procedure, decided that the timing of the pregnancy (in pre-Pill days) would upset his plans to complete medical school. (Years later they had a son, now in his early 40s.)

She also writes that the sexual encounters that happened when she was a child were often “a little girl experiencing eroticism,” describing, in graphic detail, how her grandfather would fondle her as she sat on his lap.

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