The Many Layers of Justice

After my presentation, I was handed a small rock imprinted with words of affirmation. A woman who had been moved by my work felt compelled to give me this small, weighted symbol–to represent the strength she saw me reclaiming, and to offer me comfort. That endearing moment stays with me to this day. 

How did I get here?
 

I was eight years old when my bright world shattered.

I was sexually assaulted by a family member, a person who was supposed to be a protector. For many years, I lived in a culturally silenced world where conversations about sexual violence within the family weren’t meant to be had. I grew up hearing “What happened in the family should stay within the family” and “How could you ‘betray’ your own blood?” Knowing this was how most Hispanic families - including my own - handled situations, brought great discomfort and heartache, as it allowed wrongdoings to occur in secret for the sake of keeping up a family image. I felt enclosed and isolated in my mind - the broken girl from a home without a mother, a brother hundreds of miles away, and a father who worked tirelessly to build a future he thought was safe and could be trusted. Fear of what would happen if I told someone what had happened kept me silent and it took 8 more years to speak of my experience. 

 When I finally told someone what happened to me at age 16, it was like Boom! Flash! While hearing family members speak about safety and how “you never know what could occur if you were to stay out late or be alone,” I was instantly triggered. Suddenly, I was hyperventilating and was taken by ambulance to an ER room. I needed to release the truth; it wasn't enough to just cry and keep quiet. So I shared my story. 

I SPOKE.

I was HEARD.

I was BELIEVED. 

My fear shifted. Speaking my truth brought pain and shock, but they also brought some comfort that I no longer had to carry the burden of a secret. That night in the hospital felt like a blur. I was momentarily left alone to receive the help I needed from professionals. Afterwards, I felt as though I had come in and out of consciousness. My only other memory is telling an officer my story, with a looming fear inside of what was to  come. 

What was REALLY next for me?
 

I pursued justice within an imperfect system. 

People often ask why I chose to engage with the justice system so many years after the assault. My desired outcome wasn't just a carceral sentence; it was a need to prove to my eight-year-old self that I was finally worthy of being heard. The minute someone told me they HEARD me after speaking out was the minute I wanted to use my voice for justice. I needed to finally move on from this secret and heal.

I wish I could say that the justice system delivered the best outcome for the crime. It did not. My experience with the legal system was a grueling test of my patience and perseverance. So much waiting, so much silence, and all in an environment that was arduous to handle. There were times when I felt that the strings of my heart and mind were tethered and toyed with — as my court dates were constantly postponed by months into the future. 

When nobody could offer me updates on my case over the phone, there was an area of the courthouse itself that I attempted to go to for news. This space felt claustrophobic and heavy as it was confined to the end of the hall. I was constantly met with silence and a system that failed to keep me updated on the details of my own legal case. I was left in limbo — always “walking on eggshells” with the courts, feeling that I was not supposed to  pressure anyone to let me know anything at all about my case. Luckily, my father was my prime support system throughout this ordeal and he often helped by speaking on my behalf, given my age.

While the justice system didn't offer me the trial or carceral sentence I had initially hoped for, I was able to find justice in another way when the day came to speak publicly to my abuser. I knew I had to speak my truth, despite the sense of familial betrayal and the pain of a divided family, where some still refused to believe me. 

I stood in that courtroom. 

I faced my abuser. 

I shared my victim impact statement and said: 

“I am not that silent girl who stands by people like you. I am no longer 8 anymore.” 

To make sure he understood me better, I even said it in Spanish, which other family members in the gallery could understand too. At the end of my case, my abuser did not receive jail time, but he was put on the sex offender registry. 
I got to say my piece, and that was that. 
 

Finding my way to heal through art.

Although the justice system had deemed my case closed, the trauma remained. Life went on, and I had to find a way to live with this in my rearview. I still had to heal from the sexual violence of my past, and the re-traumatization of the justice system that followed. While the justice system provided a legal conclusion, it did not provide the regulation I needed to survive. 

For me, that grounding came through photography. I was still in high school when my case ended, and my advanced placement art class offered me a unique opportunity to express what I was feeling inside. I created a series of photographs where I used my body and self as the canvas. Art became the outlet that therapy and anti-depressants alone could not reach. It allowed me to move from a state of "freezing" as a means to cope into a state of "becoming the light" and bringing joy to others.

The work that I created, Manipulated Marionette and Lasting Handprints, allowed me to visually depict the "indescribable moments" of emotional distress I had experienced. 
 

My Testimony represented my process of speaking the truth and what I imagined it would have been like if my case had gone to trial.

Retrospective Frames was a take on how good memories became tainted by trauma. At the time I wasn't able to fully appreciate any joyful moments and friendships I had because I was constantly struggling with sorrowful thoughts of my past. 
 

Shower Thoughts demonstrated the bruised body and breaking point of reaching the overwhelming points. All were pivotal aspects in the self reflection of this voyage. It brought me great comfort to visually communicate these viewpoints.

When I think back on being given that tiny rock containing words of affirmation after presenting this artwork, I am reminded how the truth can penetrate hearts. It can allow us to connect with one another and feel a little less alone. Bringing comfort in a tough time. 
My artwork allowed me to tell a visual narrative of my experience with the justice system, and it helped me on my healing journey.

You can view my artwork in my Survivor Story here. 
 

I am a survivor.

My experience has taught me that despite great difficulty, I was able to find comfort in the creation of art. My art not only empowered me, it allowed me to connect with others who have gone through similar experiences. I am no longer just a victim; I am a survivor who chooses to share her journey through every frame I capture and every word I speak.

Although I currently study graphic design, I plan to attend law school in the future. I have decided I am in a better place, emotionally, mentally, and physically to move on into a new chapter of my life. My decision to pursue law school allows me to be an active agent in the world by advocating for those whose voices are stifled. Through pursuing law school, I am able to enter the field with the dual lens of lived experience and formal legal knowledge, allowing me to engage in the reforming process of the justice system with a clearer understanding.

As I reflect on all that I’ve been through, I want others to know there is no timeline on your truth. Whether it has been eight days or eight years, it is never too late to speak up. Today, I am vulnerable, I am vocal, and I am healing. My journey has inspired me to pursue law school, not just to navigate the system, but to change the experience for those who come after me. 

MY ADVICE TO ANYONE WHO WANTS TO REPORT 

Some tips to help before and during the process: 

• Have a strong support system. Even if you feel a lack of support from family or friends, finding one person who supports you and is willing to comfort you in this difficult time makes all the difference in your healing journey.
• Healing is never linear but be persistant. Wake up and take things day by day.Taking things one small step at a time can help.
• Sometimes it helps to ground yourself with a physical object or a hobby.  Having something to focus on can help you feel calmer in an overwhelming environment. My story explores art, yours may explore cooking or yoga. All are completely acceptable modes of healing.
• Remember, this is YOUR time to reclaim the narrative and reclaim your identity.