Why Haven’t You Published Your Book?

I’m sharing an unedited snippet from my book, for the first time ever. Be gentle with me, because this is not the norm for me.  Very few people have read it, as I have not allowed it. When you read this, I think you’ll understand why it remains unpublished.  It may never see the light of day as it’s going to take a tremendous amount of courage on my part, and I’m just not there yet. I learned a long time ago that sometimes being brave isn't enough to make a difference. Here goes...

"… being in that court room was more damaging than the crime itself.  I was just eleven years old.  It was 1985 and we were just beginning to talk about these things, these types of crimes against children.   The courtroom was packed, all seats were taken.   I knew that the room was divided right down the middle, with those that believed me, and those that thought I was lying.  It was not because of anything that was said, but because I felt it. I felt it in the friends I had lost. I felt it in the way people looked at me.  I felt it in the community.  I just felt it all around me.  I knew that several of the people who said I was lying, were lying. I knew more than I let on.

When I testified, my parents were not allowed in the courtroom.  I was alone. I knew my aunt was there, and I had the DA, the judge and all sorts of people were there, but I was alone.  The State and the DA put me on the stand as an 11-year-old child, with my perpetrator sitting across from me.  I have very vivid memories of that time, and it is a great source of my PTSD.  The court room was packed and silent at the same time.  I can still hear the sound of my little black, patent leather shoes, clicking across the marble floor as I walked up to the stand.  Every single eye was on me and I was terrified when I sat down in that huge, wooden chair.  I looked left to the judge and he smiled at me.  I looked to my right and saw the jury.  Everyone looked sympathetic and in that moment, I realized how pitiful I must look to them, and so the shame began.  They looked like they felt sorry for me.  It was pity.  To this day if someone pities me, it is a trigger.  Just as injustice is a trigger.  I remember feeling small and weak and guess what?  Trigger!

When my testimony began, I remember feeling like the DA wasn’t on my side anymore, he seemed different in the court room, which added to my feeling that the world was against me. I was asked by the DA, and defense attorneys, to explain over and over again what my gymnastics coach had done to me. I did what was asked of me, using words like penis and vagina.  It was horrific, shameful and humiliating.  I believe to this day that the attorneys, both the DA and the defense, did more damage than Jack ever did.  I was asked to repeat myself, over and over, as they tried to prove their cases.   In that moment, those attorneys destroyed a little girl, a very brave little girl.  It was unforgivable, but I ultimately forgave them.  They really had no way of knowing the damage they were doing, but they should have known.  I wish I would’ve asked them, “…Hey, would you put your own child up there like that?…”, but it’s too late.  Way, way too late.   

I never came back from that. I don’t think I ever will. I have had to build a life around that injustice, and I have fumbled it a bit, but I’ve tried to make sunshine out of that torrential downpour of childhood memories. I was the victim…not once, but twice.  Once, the victim of a pedophile, and then the victim of the American justice system, who treated this crime like any other crime, when it was so vastly different.  I never spoke to the DA again, but I’ve often wondered about him and what became of his career.  Did he learn anything from my case?  He won that case at my expense, but really the defense won, because my perpetrator went to jail for a mere six months.  Was the DA proud of that? Did he feel like he won? I never felt like I won, I never got justice.  I never won anything but more trauma to heal from.

I try to focus on the positive, and remember that my speaking up, my pressing charges, my personal hell in the courtroom, saved other children. That is the only thing that got me through.  I learned how brave I was, but I also learned that it wasn’t enough to make a difference.  He got away with it, in my mind.  He stole my childhood, my innocence, my dream of being an Olympic gymnast, my sense of belonging anywhere in this world, and much more.  He didn’t pay for any of it, and I was given the lifetime sentence of trying to overcome it.  That’s the real shame".

     - Stacey Vallee, from Real Cute, Stacey, unedited