The Rose Garden, Chapter 22 – A Voice Reclaimed

Scales of Justice, Author St. Louis Circuit Attorney’s Office, (CC BY-SA 4.0 International)

WARNING:  Graphic Images

“…we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope” (Rom. 5: 3-4).

The American Psychiatric Association defines three major dissociative disorders [1]:

• Depersonalization/derealization disorder — a sense of separation from self;
• Dissociative amnesia — suppressed memories; and
• Dissociative identity disorder — alternate identities.

These conditions arise from shocking, distressing, and/or painful events, including severe neglect or repetitive physical, emotional, and/or sexual abuse.  Symptoms can range from memory loss to disconnected identities.

Thankfully, I never, myself, suffered from suppressed memories or alternate identities.  There were, however, three aspects to my personality as a result of the incest:  an inner child; a capable woman; and a cynic.  By the grace of God, I have since managed to integrate these aspects with one another.

What purpose, I ask myself, did these aspects of my personality serve?

The Inner Child

The inner child preserved the feelings I experienced as a child.  She represented my lost innocence.

The child made a rare public appearance on the one occasion I was required to testify at trial, on my own behalf.  All legal knowledge on my part evaporated.  I leaned tensely forward on the witness stand, responding to each question precisely and with extreme care, my eyes fixed on opposing counsel.

Jurors commented afterwards that I seemed too sincere for an attorney, must have been holding some part of myself back.  Little did they realize how much I had actually revealed.

The Capable Woman

The woman was the attorney — competent, dignified.  She predominated.  Although heavily focused on work, she was able to function.

The Cynic

The cynic was a source of passion and strength.  She had no problem expressing anger.  And the cynic had a voice that the child did not.

Surprisingly, it was foul language which first allowed me access to that voice.  Not having heard such language as a child, I was not denied it.  That was the key.

The equipment necessary to the practice of law is located above the neck.  I acquired profanity as a way of conveying that fact to fools in the legal profession who actually believed gutter language a demonstration of strength.

Profanity is a weapon denied women, if they are to be considered ladies by our culture. Though I do not endorse it, I ask to be judged by the same standards applied to men for utilizing that weapon.

I never aspired to be a lady.  I aspired to be a hero.

Litigation

I was a litigator for twenty five years.  I am, also, an incest survivor.  For me, the two experiences have been inextricably entwined.

I became a lawyer to give a voice to the voiceless and, in a very real sense, regain my own.  That will sound saccharine only to those who have not struggled to speak.

Confrontation — though not my preferred mode of interaction — is no longer difficult for me.  I have won and lost cases — not all important to the world at large, but all important to the parties involved.  Any good trial lawyer will lose some cases or the lawyer is not taking sufficient risk.  Win or lose, I know what it is to stand up for the truth.

The law for me has been a vocation, a calling.

Over the years, I considered other specialties than litigation.  For a time, I thought appeals work might be less gritty.  I looked into bioethics; later, environmental activism.  I explored child advocacy, but quickly experienced it as retraumatizing [2].

During the year before my last management job, I was so desperate for employment that I applied for positions at a real estate office and a bank.

Something always drew me back.

The incest left me enormously protective toward children.  This may be my attempt to heal the inner child.  In saving the world, we save ourselves.

Abuse Cases

For that reason, the following cases — from among the thousands in which I was involved — hold special meaning for me.

The first case I ever handled involved incest between an uncle and his mentally handicapped niece.  A friend from college had called asking for help.  The young woman was pregnant, too far along for an abortion; the family, distraught.

I made frantic calls to the District Attorney’s office and elsewhere.  Given the victim’s mental condition, the law required corroboration.  No one had caught the two in the act.  DNA testing was not yet available.  The predator eluded prosecution.  I did manage to find a caring location for the victim to complete her pregnancy.

In 1984, I conducted my first Municipal Law Hearing, on short notice.  In New York, Municipal Law Hearings are informal questioning sessions, held under oath.  Their purpose is to facilitate early investigation by city agencies of any negligence alleged against them (thereby preserving evidence and fostering early settlement).

This particular hearing had fallen off the calendar.  The plaintiff, her counsel, and a court reporter arrived as scheduled.  However, my office had not properly diaried the case.  No other attorney being available, I was called in on short notice to take the testimony of a ten-year-old girl raped by a thirteen-year-old boy.

I can still remember the girl’s name.  I can still see her face.  My dilemma lay in the ethical obligation I had to protect the interests of my client, i.e. the Housing Authority, as landlord of the premises at which the rape had occurred.

Questioning the girl, I did not doubt she had been raped.  The boy, a fellow resident at the premises, had assaulted her in a hallway.  She continued to see him daily in school afterwards.

From the perspective of my client, the boy had as much right to access the premises as the girl did.  Security was not a real issue.  In other words, the rape did not take place because of a failure by the landlord to take safety precautions.

Yet, my heart went out to the girl.  I was as gentle in questioning her as I could be.  I had no wish to add to her trauma.  She ended up on the streets, regardless.

Some five years later, I was defending a medical malpractice case for unnecessary surgery.  A girl of about seven had arrived at the emergency room with classic symptoms of acute appendicitis, including pain in the right lower abdomen.  However, when the girl’s appendix was removed, the organ was found to be normal.

I sent the case out for expert review.  My expert called back, deeply concerned.  Only appendicitis or a sexually transmitted disease (STD) could have caused this particular cluster of symptoms.

From this, we had clear evidence that the girl was being molested, and a sound defense to her claim.  Given the girl’s tender age, the surgeon had no reason to anticipate an STD might be present, so was not required by the standards of good medical practice to rule it out.

I could have waited for the normal discovery process, but elected to call the girl’s counsel immediately, and let him know.  Her attorney now had the ethical obligation to intervene.  The case was discontinued.  More importantly, the molestation was stopped — at least I hope it was.

In 2003, I was referred a case involving two brothers.  Both had been molested by a trusted family friend.  Now, as adults, they had chosen to come forward.

Throughout their ordeal, the elder brother had not known of his younger brother’s involvement.  Surely — the elder had thought, each time he was violated — his younger brother would be protected.

But the predator was not satisfied with a single victim.  Investigation disclosed a dozen victims or more.

The brothers impressed me immensely by their courage.  To the younger brother — and to me — the elder brother’s sacrifice was all the more meaningful for having been in vain.  The predator was located, apprehended, and confessed.  He had been molested, himself.

Civil suit was at that time barred by the Statute of Limitations.  Thankfully, the Pennsylvania legislature has in recent years extended the Statute.

The results in these cases were not all that I could have wanted.  In every case, however, I know with absolute certainty that I was the attorney meant to be present.  My life experience had uniquely prepared me.

Though God did not inflict the incest on me, He found a way to use it for good.  His light shines brightest in the broken places of our lives.

Though characterized by conflict, litigation offered me a unique opportunity for peacemaking.  In the midst of conflict, there was the potential for resolution.

Sexual abuse remains all too common.  We must not forget that.  There are children at risk and wounds to be healed.  We can all picture the frightened child.  Far fewer realize that the scars left by abuse may last a lifetime.

At least three of my closest friends were sexually abused as children — one by a parent, one by a relative or guardian, one by a stranger.

My pastor’s wife was sexually abused by several male relatives as a child.  My mail carrier’s wife was sexually abused by her father.  For twenty years, the woman could not bring herself to share that information with her husband.

But suffering is not limited to sexual abuse alone.  I worked years ago with a Holocaust survivor.  Two physicians I knew were the sons of Holocaust survivors.  Another friend lost her entire family in the Holocaust.

We often wrestle in the dark, with dark forces.  Yet, there is enormous heroism in ordinary lives, as my family’s story demonstrates.

The challenge for abuse victims lies in harnessing their own strength.  Rage is all too easily turned inward into depression, rather than translated into effective action.

All my life I have struggled to find or make meaning.

The struggle is more difficult — and more urgent — in those situations over which we have no control.  We do not choose our parents or the circumstances into which we are born.  We do not have absolute control over our health, or even our professional success.  Certainly not over love.

We can choose only our response.

It is when our hopes and expectations are shattered that we come face to face with the eternal.  On rare occasions we glimpse the pattern, see the reverse of a rich and complex tapestry.  More often than not, we merely persevere.

My father’s notebook ends:  “That’s enough.  So [now] you can write a book, Annie.”

This is not the book my father intended.  I still, at times, see myself as the fly in the ointment.  I wish with all my heart that were not so.  I wish I could have written a pure and simple immigrant story.

My voice is not as eloquent as I might like.  It is, however, a voice.  My flaws are obvious.  But this life is the only mortal one I will ever know.

There are still questions to which I do not have answers.

We say, “I can’t figure things out.”

God replies, “I will direct your steps” (Prov. 3: 5-6).

—

[1]  Mayo Clinic, “Dissociative disorders”, https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/dissociative-disorders/symptoms-causes/syc-20355215.

[2]  Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMSHA), “Tips for Survivors of a Disaster or Other Traumatic Event:  Coping with Retraumatization”, https://store.samhsa.gov/sites/default/files/sma17-5047.pdf.

Copyright © 2008 – Present Anna Waldherr.  All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-60247-890-9

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