Sadly, we now live in a time when words like “trauma” and “survivor” have saturated people’s ability to comprehend their real meaning. These words risk becoming background noise.
This is just one reason why sharing your crime narrative is key to helping others understand what violence does to people. I’m thinking about judges, media, physicians, defense attorneys, detectives, friends, students and teens teetering on the edge of trouble. They all need to understand – really understand.
When you tell your story you reduce becoming a legal footnote, a statistic, a mere clip art “poster child” for crime. You have a lived experience. There is nothing that comes close. Your words and your actions make the invisible visible, the intangible tangible. Yes, data informs. Yes, strategies matter. Yes, legislation is important. But they do not feel.
And without feeling there is no depth of understanding, no fiery call to action, no certainty of what is being said. It’s only through personal narratives that we move beyond the abstract and into the undeniable truth of what crime takes—and what resilience reclaims.
Sharing your narrative can take many forms. Some illustrate what they experienced. Here is a pencil drawing by Jenna Simon. You don’t need much background information to understand what happened, what will happen and the impact on the child’s life. A picture is worth a thousand words.
Biology of Narrative
Did you know that when your personal story engages the listener, or observer, it releases powerful neurochemicals like oxytocin, endorphins, and dopamine? And when that happens, the audience becomes less critical, more empathetic, and retains the information longer. (!) I’d like to see a dry statistic do that! When policy makers, fund raisers, educators and clinicians begin to really “get it” magic can happen.
Other Ways to Communicate
But graphic arts isn’t the only way. Some share their message through brief videos on social media. Take a minute out of your day and listen to this survivor tell her powerful story and its aftermath.
And, of course, many crime experiencers use words to paint a picture of their special horror. There are so many good memoirs out there, that it’s hard to select just one. But I have chosen to showcase “Getting Life.” It is about a husband and a father, an ordinary man, who was a manager of a Safeway Store. He had no history of violence, no rap sheet. He paid his bills and regularly welcomed friends and family into their suburban family home. He was invested in raising his toddler with his wife, Christine. Nonetheless, he was accused, tried, and convicted of the savage murder of his sleeping wife. Several years and degrading experiences into his incarceration, in the humidity and heat of a Texas maximum security prison, he recalled the following.
“When I was wrongly convicted, I grew angry at everything and everyone. I was enraged that fate had compounded the cruelty of Chris’s murder by taking my life as well. In prison, that anger may have actually helped me. My rage kept me strong; it kept me from looking back. My righteous anger protected me and comforted me and shielded me from my awful surroundings; it kept me hard and cynical about what had become of the man – or the little boy – I used to be.“
Only you know when you are ready to tell your story. (It took me thirty years.) And when you do, you will ignite a momentum that carries impact from one person to another, from one moment to the next. It just might be the ingredient another crime victim needs to start their healing journey.
Stand up and be counted.
