Re: Funding Cuts - Post 7
This post comes with a really significant trigger warning, but it outlines our long history of trauma-informed care. This kind of care is invaluable and irreplaceable. I ask that you help us to share our stories.
December 15, 2020
*Trigger warning: sexual violence*
I wish to tell my story anonymously as, after all these years, my family doesn’t know the full extent of my experience. I currently work for the Elizabeth Fry Society. My career trajectory changed when I was in university. I didn’t know what I wanted my career to be until my experience happened, and then I knew I wanted to help people in the same way that I was helped.
After an evening out with university friends, I took a taxi back to my home. It was late and I was intoxicated. The taxi driver didn’t take me home though. He drove me to a back alley and assaulted me and left me in the cold by myself with torn clothing and no means to call for help. I somehow managed to make it home and went through a typical process of suppressing my experience to protect myself. I didn’t tell anyone and did my best to not think about it. I was drunk, after all, and I knew that the narrative would focus on my intoxication if I did report what happened to me. I did not feel strong enough to handle this character assassination.
Two weeks after, I overheard a group of women discussing a taxi driver that had been lurking near the university afterhours and creeping some women out. I didn’t hear the full details but this was a distinct trigger for me and made me immediately worried about there being other women out there like me who this taxi driver had assaulted. I’m not sure how, but I worked up the courage to go to police.
Exactly what I expected to happen, happened. They focused on my intoxication and what I was wearing. I was asked intimate questions about my sexual history. What was happening to me didn’t feel right but I felt powerless to address it. I answered their questions as best I could and always thought about there being other women just like me. This was my interaction with the criminal justice system; though I had been the one abused, I was forced to defend myself. Perhaps there were simple processes in place that were required, but my experience was exceptionally painful and one I haven’t yet come to terms with.
(I’m leaving out parts of my story to protect my anonymity.) 6 months later I was informed that the taxi driver was arrested. Unfortunately by that time my mental health had deteriorated so significantly that I don’t recall much of this conversation or the ensuing days and weeks. However, I do remember my experience going to the courthouse in Edmonton for the first time in my life.
I had written down the number of the courtroom and I believe I had the name of the crown prosecutor. Beyond that, I was completely uninformed and absolutely overwhelmed. So many men in suits. That is a very distinct memory for me… all the men in suits. Was one of them my abuser? OR was one of them the crown prosecutor I was supposed to talk to? Fight or flight kicked in for me as I was standing there in the middle of the open area, confused, lost, and beyond terrified. If an exit was immediately visible, I would have sprinted to it immediately. Feeling unable to breathe, that’s when she approached me. She was an elderly woman. She had on a grey blazer and a name tag. She held a clipboard. I don’t remember what I said, but she took my hand. She lead me somewhere private, gave me some water and some tissue, and waited for me to find my voice. I handed her my scribbled piece of paper with the court room and Crown’s name. She sat beside me and held my hand and said we would wait until I caught my breath. I’m not sure how long that took, but she didn’t leave me. It is hard to describe how retraumatizing it was entering that court house. To say I was reliving the trauma all over again is an understatement. But this woman was there for me when no one else was.
After several minutes (that felt like hours), she took me to find the Crown. I don’t remember the conversation (something about deportation) but I left with some basic information on the outcome of the process and that I wasn’t needed further. To this day, I haven’t been able to completely process what that outcome was, but what I can say with absolute certainty is that that woman in the grey blazer and the delicate hands transformed my life. By simply being there, and being patient with me, I felt heard and understood. She connected with me as a human and she took care of me as though I was important to her.
In the days (weeks… months …years… lifetime) after, I took steps to address my trauma. And as I began to settle in with my ‘new normal’ as a survivor, I thought about this woman endlessly. Who was she? Why was she there? She certainly wasn’t a lawyer. But she also wasn’t a government employee either. I actually called the courthouse and inquired about “supportive people” who are present in court, and I was forwarded to the Elizabeth Fry Society. Turned out, this woman, my angel who helped me on my second darkest and most terrifying day (second only to the day of my abuse) was in fact a long-serving volunteer. She was retired and she volunteered once a week, supporting folks attending court. I wrapped my head around that for a long time. There are people who dedicate themselves to showing up and helping others no matter their circumstances in court …. This blew my mind.
The next semester I changed my major. I knew I wanted to help people. As I was helped. I wanted to show up for people. As this incredible EFry volunteer showed up for me. I now work for this organization that devotes its mission to showing up for people.
It’s all I can do to type this… thinking about courts without that care and compassion that only EFry can provide. There are other people out there like me; too many to count. They deserve care and compassion in a system full of business suits and processes that are deeply confusing at the best of times let alone when processing trauma.
Whatever needs to happen to save EFry’s Court Programs, needs to happen. If you’re reading this, let’s make it happen.
With Love,
An EFry Staff Member