My Day in Court. When God Presides.

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I’ve been speaking and giving testimonies surrounding just about every aspect of the abuse I went through, the court system, etc.  I’ve spoke about everything from my crazy dysfunctions to the long and arduous healing process.  The one thing I haven’t done is written about it…well, not publicly.  I’ve been working on getting this story out in the memoir I’m writing, but haven’t brought much of that content to my online world.  I decided to do that for a site I’ve recently began contributing for, A Deeper Story.  So.  Here goes…

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I was nervous in that witness box. I shoved my sweaty hands under my little thighs to keep them from shaking.  In front of me, Ma was on the left, my Dad on the right.  On my direct right, the honorable Judge So-And-So presiding, the court recorder down in front, the jury,  my lawyers, my fathers lawyers, and a room full of strangers watching the proceedings.  I was not briefed beforehand.  Though vague memories of “just be honest, honey,” persist.

Questioning began.  My lawyer asked me questions and I answered politely.  I got a warm reception.  And then he asked me to use my fingers to describe what my Dad had done.  I said no.  I looked to my father, but he wouldn’t make eye contact.

He was mortified, but I was too.  I needed him to look at me.  I didn’t move for what felt like a long time.  I had the feeling of dread coursing through my body.  You know the feeling you get when your car starts slipping and you’re certain you’re going to plunge into dark icy waters and die a frightful death?  It was like that. It was an adrenaline pumping, stomach turning, hand shaking, dry-mouth extravaganza.  I looked to Ma for reassurance.  Her face revealed anxiety, redness, fear and disgrace. I looked to the Judge, who looked impatient.

You can read the rest of this post over on A Deeper Family where I’m guest posting today…