Why I Used My Voice (And You Should Too.)

Sofia Shepherd

Victim Impact Report: A Northern California Student's First Hand Account of Confronting her Abuser

     Your Honor,

I’d like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak. I would also like to ask for your permission to address Daniel Mummy.

Although I am grateful for this opportunity to speak, I am also confused. How am I supposed to express the last year of fear and misery into one 3 minute speech? How do you describe a pain that is ever present, but at times hurts worse? It hurts so bad that you get the strongest urge to vomit, yet you can't because you can't remember the last time you ate because nothing has taste anymore, you're so exhausted trying to get through each day that the very thought of chewing and swallowing wears you out, so all you do is sip on water and hope that you somehow drown yourself inside out... I always thought I was strong. I always had a picture in my head of me sticking up for what i believe in, holding my ground, i pictured myself powerful. I always trusted myself, I always trusted others, I always left my car unlocked with the windows down, I left the keys sitting right there on the seat. I had this philosophy, if someone takes my car or the things in it, they must need it more than me and they should have it. I guess that’s what I did with my heart too, I let people in, and shared my love with them. And it was beautiful, I was hurt from time to time, but I was strong, or so I thought.

You came, you came and you took the keys one day, and then you took the air fresheners, you took the battery, and slowly all the things that ran the car were gone. I just assumed you needed them more than me, that it was okay. That the fear and terror that took over my body wasn’t a big deal, that you needed these things and it was okay. It was okay because you asked how I was doing, how my family was, you asked me why i was missing school, why I seemed down. And you told me it was going to be okay. I was confused, i didn’t understand what was going on, i felt crazy. You showed me pictures of your family, you told me to try hard, to be the best I could be, you cared about me, but you were also stealing from me. But were you stealing? Was I giving it up? Was it wrong? Was it okay? Did I owe it to you? Why did I feel so afraid?

The eye contact. I still remember your brown eyes behind your glasses, and when they met mine, I can’t describe the fear that would overcome me as I quickly averted my eyes to escape, hoping our interaction wouldn't go any farther than that. I remember laughing at your jokes, participating in conversations, desperately trying to shut out my fear and act as though everything was normal. Because the moments were quick, the moments of smiling then touching, then more smiling. The adrenaline, the shaky hands, the heat that flooded my face, that didn’t just come and go, that stayed until I left your presence.  

The confusion and fear I faced every week for 5 months from the first time you touched me, squeezing my hips from behind me as we were alone, to the week I told you to your face that you had to stop. I wasn’t sure, I wasn’t sure if you were doing wrong, for you made it seem okay.  I was only sure that I avoided you, that I had nightmares about you, that my heart raced and my palms would sweat when I was near you. But still I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know, my head hurt, no amount of logic justified your actions, but i felt i owed it to you to ignore my intuition, to ignore my feelings, all because you “cared about me”.

When March 16th came, and I was called into the police station, I thought it would all get better, when I finally told my parents about you, I thought I’d feel at peace. And I did, I felt safer, I felt validated. But then I heard at the school rally the next day, kids were screaming “free Mummy”, and then I saw posts about how ‘the girls’ were lying and how we just wanted attention. I saw a Facebook page created to save you. My classmates stopped being so friendly, my teachers drew back. The principal and assistant principals would barely looked at me in the eye, walking faster as they passed me. My friends avoided the subject as though it didn’t happen, that it was a figment of my imagination. I felt dangerous, I felt responsible.

Recently a boy asked me out, I declined and he asked why? I explained to him that I was not interested in any sort of relationship. He questioned me more and I found myself saying, well the real reason is that I do not trust men. I do not trust boys. I don’t want to be in a position where I am expected or obligated to trust a male.”

How am I to trust again,?

How am I supposed to talk to people, look them in the eye, hug them. How am I supposed to make friends, build relationships, when all I can think about is when they will start to take

advantage of me?

Why should I second guess my actions around every man I am near Why should I have the urge to throw up when I hear your name Why should I lose friends Why should I be called a liar and lose the support of my community

Why do I feel this is my fault. Why am I ashamed of something I did not do? Why do I want to cover up, wear baggy clothes, why do I want to be invisible? Why do I hope and pray that boys think I’m unattractive, why do I hope and pray that at college parties no one notices me? Why isn’t there an answer to these questions?

I’d like to thank you for all of these questions that stem from the reality of the life I have been living for the past year.

Thank you for forcing me to live in a state of confusion and self doubt Thank you for putting me in a position of ridicule Thank you for sleepless nights, avoiding of dreams of all the men in my life violating me Thank you for teaching me that I am likely just an object in the eyes of the men i hold dear to me  

Thank you for awkward silences with peers that I once could talk for hours with Thank you for teaching me not to open up my heart Thank you, You made me question every single person in my life,

You made me question myself, my intuition, my worth.

I cannot stand near a man without breaking a sweat, I cannot watch a father with his daughter without visualizing him violating her, I cannot admire boys or men for anything they do, no matter how great. For who know what secret life they are living, whose bodies they are secretly violating. The hair on my back stands up when a man is behind me in the grocery store, is he looking at my body, is he imagining himself touching me, will he pursue me? I hold my breath when men I do not know well initiate contact, even just a handshake, or brush of the soldiers. I wonder if I will ever be able to speak to my male professors with out other students in the room, I wonder if my mind will ever be at ease in the presence of male authority.  I wonder if I will always connect the men around me to my body and whether they want to or will violate it. I question my body and its purpose. I feel that it is not mine. I wonder, is it just for those that want it, are these men entitled to me? I hate my body, I hate that you chose it and you used it. I hate that I feel tainted by your hands. I wonder if I will ever be proud of my body, if I will ever love it for what it has overcome instead of hating it for what it’s been through.

The worst part about all of this is that I should hate you. You made me hate the people I love most, you made me hate myself. But I don't. I simply feel bad for you. It makes me sad that you have to look at yourself everyday and know that you made us 3 and who knows what other girls feel not just uncomfortable, but powerless, terrified, violated. Not just once but so many times, dehumanizing us girls, putting us in your box as your toys. I feel sad that you have to live with yourself- knowing that everything you were was partially a lie. You weren't just the cool teacher with tattoos and ear piercings, the colleague with the progressive teaching techniques and political views. You weren't just the supportive father and loving husband. You were and are a perverted man, --so confident in his manipulation of those around him, that you violated innocent human beings, degrading them with your hands and arms and soul.

I have one request- As you continue on, I ask you not to touch other girls. And if you must- if the urge is just too overwhelming, and your conscience truly doesn't exist, please don't wrap them up in your web of lies. Just touch them and move on. Don't steal six months, a year, the last semester of senior year, the first semester of college from more innocent girls. Because this process wouldn't have been half as painful if you didn't spend the last four years with me teaching me, guiding me, supporting me, encouraging me, and loving me only to find out there was an end game, there was a prize and that was my body. The worst part was that you never cared, not only did you never care, but you didn’t even respect me enough to not violate me.  as though it was your right because you were there for me when I cry. It's hard to look at a man who was a huge mentor in your world, and realize all you ever were was a piece of ass in his.

My friend told me I am the strongest person she knows. I don’t feel like the strongest person. Quite frankly, I don’t feel that I am anything at all.

I feel that I am just a shell of a girl locking her doors and desperately trying to find a will to live.

Daniel Mummy, I hope one day I can forgive you, simply that I may forget you.

To read more stories about the Female Experience, check out Alive: The Collection.