I Was Every Woman’s Worst Nightmare; Restorative Justice Changed Me
Tears poured down my cheeks. Hunched over on a hard plastic chair, elbows on knees, I buried my face in my hands. The group was silent. I had just shared the details of my crimes. Robbery and sexual assault. I confessed to being every woman’s worst nightmare. Recounting these moments from years ago brought a resurgence of guilt and shame. I had been a young, strung-out, ruthless gang member, with zero respect for women, and I had an accomplice to impress.
The host of our group embraced me with a hug, her gentle hand rubbing my back. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered in my ear, validating my emotions, and washing away years of crippling embarrassment. She was a sexual assault survivor.