Journeys of Hope - Veronica's Journey
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I’m
the luckiest person I know. I’ve lived to see the dream of
my lifetime come true. My childhood was a cesspool of
sickness. My father was evil and insane. He sexually,
mentally and physically abused my sisters, my mother, and
me. At a very young age, I accepted the fact that he was
crazy and that I could not control or accept responsibility
for that – that I had simply had the bad luck to be born
into a sick situation. When I was little, there was very
little discussion about sexual abuse or family violence.
Even so, I was outraged by my father’s criminal behavior
and was pretty outspoken about what was happening in our
family. Of the few times I got the courage to reach out, no
adult ever stepped forward to help me. The uniform response
I received was, in essence, “Oh, wow, that’s terrible
— but I don’t know what I can do to help. No one can and
will protect you. You just have to try to survive and, if
you do, get out when you can.”
My father was arrested 15 times for rape, child sexual
assault, ABHAN, indecent exposure, and drug-related crimes.
He was the stereotypical sociopath- controlling, smoothly
manipulative, handsome, charming, and very dangerous. He was
never held in jail for longer than a few months.
I was 13 when two things happened to change my life. One
night, in front of his three daughters, my father severely
beat my mom, then shot his own business partner in our front
yard. As my father was wrestled to the ground and handcuffed
in front of our neighbors, I felt embarrassed but relieved.
Our problem was “public” now; police had finally taken
control of the maniac in our house and put him where he
belonged -- we were safe! To my shock, he got away with even
that: he was let out the next day. His business partner
refused to press charges because he was afraid for his life.
My mother left him then for the first time. We moved in with
my grandparents and had our first taste of “normalcy.”
It took about six months of being stalked, threatened,
cajoled and harassed for her to give in and return to him.
About this same time I read an article in a newspaper that a
rapist had boasted, immediately before his release from
prison, that he would kidnap, rape and kill a child as soon
as he was let out – and he did. The police commented that
there was nothing that could have been done to prevent it
– that they had to wait until the rapist GOT CAUGHT
committing a crime until they could re-arrest him and
protect the community. I decided that I would seek vengeance
on criminals, beginning with my father.
I changed overnight. I was an outgoing, irreverent,
seemingly happy teenager at school; at home, I planned ways
to kill my father. As my father became more controlling and
abusive, I fought him relentlessly, every single day. I
lived my life for one reason: to become a physical example
to my mom and sisters of how to stand up against unjust
treatment. I felt that God abandoned me. I was filled with
hatred. I felt absolutely, bleakly alone. My two sisters and
I had always been each others’ best friends and lifelines,
and “mothering” them kept me going. I tried hard to be
the best at all I did, to be tough, smart and strong; to
show my sisters how to survive. But I felt very alone.
My biggest goal was to have my own family, and to treat my
children the way I’d wanted to be treated. I was sick and
tired of hearing how children from abusive homes grow up and
“live what they learn.” As is typical in my situation, I
married young (20) — however, my husband turned out to be
a wonderful guy and, against all odds, we began a healing,
peaceful, loving marriage, and had a son and a daughter in
the next two years. I loved our family and our life so much
-- but still, at times I felt very alone.
After staying home to raise my children for a few years, I
received an offer to work at the Attorney General’s Office
for the Chief of Criminal Prosecution. During those 8 years,
learning the ins and outs of the criminal justice system, I
developed strong bonds with police officers from across the
state - judges, lawyers, legislators and key figures in
state agencies. I was in my element -- helping put the bad
guys behind bars.
Something clicked with me when Sherie Carney, a "victim
advocate" who worked in our office, explained victim
advocacy to me. Maybe it was her passion and commitment for
the work -- or maybe it was my own innate desire to change
lives. Sherie encouraged me to work in the field, and I was
absolutely dying to begin. She introduced me to an amazing
lady named Laura Hudson, one of her best friends, who had
been working with Sherie in the trenches of advocacy for
years.
I decided to write a grant to bolster the new law providing
for civil commitment for sexual predators. I got up my nerve
to call Laura Hudson to run the idea by her. Laura was a
personal hero to me. This was a lady who had had no
particular special training to change her world; just a
fierce desire, guts and a mouth that never shied from
speaking the truth. This was a lady whom I looked to as my
mentor. I prayed that she would think I was capable of
taking on the challenge of writing this grant.
Long story short, this is what brings me to you today,
through South Carolina Victim Assistance Network.
As I consider my life, I get enormous pleasure at laughing
at myself when I remember how I thought that God had
forgotten about me. I hope you can all read between the
lines of this story and see as clearly as I do how He shot
me straight down my life’s path and brought me to the work
we do. He provided everything I ever needed for my spiritual
survival -- my sisters, and my husband of twenty years,
Micah. Until I met him, I never really believed that men
could be loving, kind and fair.
At my first Victims Rights Week last May, I heard some
amazing stories of courage from people who have taken
devastating tragedies in their lives and turned them into
meaningful, positive experiences by using their wisdom,
gained from experience, to help others. As I heard those
people express so eloquently my own deepest feelings, it hit
me like a ton of bricks, and with a ton of tears -- I’m
not alone any more.
-----Veronica Swain |
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