I Am Gonna Tell: One Mother’S Fight for Justice After Discovering Her Child’S Sexual Abuse

By Jane T. Doe

Jane had a pretty good life. She was a single mother, and she worked hard for her three kids, who meant the world to her. One autumn evening she met someone she believed to be the man of her dreamsthe only thing missing in her nearly perfect life. He was handsome, gentle, quiet, and kind.

Eleven months later, they bought a home and were married. Jane was so happy. Soon, however, her daughter, Michelle, began to change; she became distant and withdrawn. Something was wrong, but Jane couldnt figure out what it was. She never thought to look at her husband as being the cause her daughters moodiness or imagine that it might be somehow related to sexual abuse. Her husbanda young, handsome man with a nine-to-five job, an ex-wife and kids of his ownwas nothing like her image of a pedophile.

In her memoir, I Am Gonna Tell, Jane recounts the nightmare that she, her daughter and sons lived through due to the man Jane brought into their lives. This is a mothers brutally honest account of the horrifying discovery of her daughters sexual abuse at the hands of her husbandher daughters stepfather.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491710975

Jane T. Doe

JANE T. DOE currently writes under the pen name to protect the privacy of the innocent. She lives in Southern California with her children, works full-time, and uses her free time to help victims of sexual abuse. Her current projects include educating children and parents about reporting suspected sexual abuse.

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Copyright © 2013 Jane T. Doe.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-1096-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-1098-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-1097-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013918814

iUniverse rev. date: 11/11/2013

Contents

Preface

The Preparation

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

Preface

I say the word I a lot in this book. I say this not because I think this has happened to me or that I am the victim; I am fully aware that my daughter, Michelle, is the victim. I say My walk through Hell, because everything is depending on me now. It’s my job to do what is right, it’s my job to believe and protect my daughter, it’s my job to help her, it’s my job to know this has happened to my daughter, but it’s also my job to pretend like everything is fine and will be well. My job is to help all my kids through this; it was my deserving burden to know that as their mother, I have failed so miserably that I don’t deserve to live, to smile, to ever be happy, but only to endure the rest of my life knowing that this happened to her. I will suffer and loathe myself to the end of my days, but all the time I will pretend that I am fine for the sake of those around me.

In the past, I often said to people with arrogance how I would make sure that none of my kids ever became one of those statistics. Since my kids could talk, I prided myself on the fact that I educated them, watched over them with men, all men, any man or any woman, regardless of family or friend relation. I watched, I talked, I informed, and I educated. It would never, ever happen to one of mine. NEVER. I was a super freak when it came to this. And I was so sure this would never touch our family. I was an idiot. Nobody can watch twenty four hours a day or seven days a week. There are way too many of the evil ones out there. And make no mistake, as I say that, my blame does not ease.

There were times when my family members or friends would say, Michelle is exactly like you! She looks like you, walks like you, talks like you, everything! I would retort back, My daughter will never be like me, she will never bear the burdens that I do. She will be so much better than me, she will never ever have my life. They would stare back at me as if I had just slapped them across the face, and really I had. They had no idea of what secrets I kept. I felt so strongly convicted with what I was saying that I always said it a bit too aggressively. And there I was, watching Michelle become exactly like me. She had her secrets too. And I was so ashamed.

The Preparation

On Saturday night I had a dream; it was a bizarre, disturbing, and beautiful dream all at the same time. Jesus came down from Heaven and brought me up from the Earth to meet somewhere in between worlds. He stood right next to me so close that his body was part of mine. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew him and who he was. He spoke to me saying, Jane, you have to go to Hell for a while. I remember I became slightly confused. I didn’t know what I had done, but I trusted him and listened to what He had to tell me. He was pointing at a thick orange line and in it was a set of numbers. There was nothing else around us; it was just Jesus, me and the orange line. He continued saying, You will go to Hell. It won’t be forever, just for a time. Then, Jane, you will come back. I had some relief then, but I was definitely afraid. He paused for a moment so that the reality of what he was saying could sink into my soul. He finished then stating very clearly, "Although you have to go for a while I want you to know, I will be there with you every step of the way. I won’t leave you, I will stay with you, I’ll be right there."

Comfort rushed through my body.

And then… I woke up.

This story is based on true events; however, names, places and descriptions have been changed.

1

We were your typical family next door. I had a routine type of life and I liked it that way. My days consisted of waking up in the early morning, getting my youngest out of bed, fighting with the kids to brush their teeth, grabbing my morning coffee drink, kissing my handsome husband goodbye as he left for work, taking my three kids to school and going to work myself. Sometimes we had my husband’s three kids with us too and that made the days crazier than usual. Friends and family referred to us as The Brady Bunch when we were all together. On the weekends, we would do some kind of family activity: clean the house, catch up on the laundry, watch a movie or two, attend church and be the basic, happy family from next door. It was challenging at times and very routine, but to me, it was heaven. My life was perfect.

It was a Monday just like any other Monday. I was at work when my cell phone rang. I answered it. My twelve year old daughter’s middle school was calling to verify my home address. Why were they calling? They knew my parents’ address. It was the address I used so my kids could go to school in that district. I irritably confirmed the address of my parents’ home and hung up the phone. I hated being interrupted at work for no good reason. If it had been an emergency, that would have been one thing, but to confirm an address was not what I would consider an urgent matter. I continued thinking, That was a very odd phone call. I wondered if they knew I actually lived a few blocks away in another school district and were busting me for it. I certainly wasn’t alone in what I did. Parents did that every day in order for their kids to attend the better schools. My concern over the call came and went, and I finished my day in ignorant bliss.

I did not think anymore about the earlier phone call from school. When I got off work and ended the daily routine of pushing papers around my desk, I proceeded to my parents’ home. This was where my children would be waiting for me to pick them up at 4:05 pm, as usual. As I pulled up the driveway I received another phone call on my cell phone; this time from a social worker named Karen. She informed me that she was on her way to my parents’ home and would need to meet and interview my two boys. She went on to tell me she had already met with my daughter, Michelle, and after she completed the interviews with my sons, Will and Aidan, she would meet with me to explain what exactly was going on. She tried to reassure me that at this time, it wasn’t anything I needed to worry about. I took that reassurance. Don’t borrow trouble, Jane, I thought. If she says it’s no big deal then it’s no big deal. Although I must admit even with her reassurance, my heart started pounding quite rapidly.

Karen arrived at my parents’ home shortly after I did. She was about my age, late 30s, but she had long, brown hair. She stood about 5'6 and her build was on the thin side. She seemed very pleasant and easy to talk to. Under different circumstances, she seemed like someone I would want to be friends with and meet periodically for coffee and girl talk." She was completely disarming. I had no problems letting my kids talk with her. I told them they could tell her anything they wanted to, or anything she wanted to know, because we had absolutely nothing to hide.

Karen said they needed to go someplace private to talk. We decided the back patio was the best place as it offered the most privacy. My daughter, Michelle, had already been interviewed at school and so my oldest son, Will, spoke with Karen first. It felt like hours before he came in and my youngest son, Aidan was asked to go out. Actually, it was only ten minutes or so, but as I sat and tried to act cool, calm and collected,—I was in a state of panic. My mind raced as I tried to think of what this could possibly be about. Aidan was only interviewed for about 5 minutes and I was so relieved when it was my turn. Finally, I would find out what this was all about. It was worse than my worst nightmare.

Karen began. A friend of a friend of a friend reported that my daughter, Michelle, told her that her step-father, Jake, had been touching her private parts. Before I had time to react, she added that it was more than likely a mistake. BAM!!! Wha… . huh? Whoa! Instantly everything closed in around me. I had an overwhelming fear coupled with a slap of shock, a slice of denial and topped off with a speck of relief, all in an instant that this was all, no big deal and probably just a mistake.

Karen explained that the school had called in to report it to the social services agency and that is how she came to be sitting at my parents’ home, outside on the back patio. Again, she tried to reassure me that this was more than likely a mistake. My boys had denied that anything inappropriate was happening at home. My daughter, Michelle, had reacted normally for someone her age when interviewed at school. She, too, had denied everything. She denied saying anything to anyone, denied those things were taking place, and denied having any problems with her stepfather. I let relief wash over me like a soothing, flowing waterfall and allowed that to calm me down. I so much wanted this to be something my daughter said to someone to see what they would say or what they would do, or… I couldn’t think of any logical reason why anyone would say this if it wasn’t true, but this was just a mistake, right? It was some kind of misunderstanding, misinterpretation, misguided torpedo of hate or gossip or jealousy, just a mistake. My mind continued trying to think of reasons why she would say that or why someone would say she said that if she hadn’t, but I couldn’t. My mind just went blank. I needed this to be a mistake so, I simply grabbed on to the words the social worker had said to me that this was all just a false accusation, just-a-mistake.

As I talked with Karen, alarms exploded in my mind. I knew things about my husband’s family, but decided to keep those secrets quiet for now. Things like the fact that my husband comes from two generations of child molesters. I know, I know, you’re thinking, What an idiot. My husband’s sister admitted she was molested by her father and grandfather. But my daughter was denying everything and denying she had talked to anyone and said anything to anyone. So I was A-okay. This was all a lie, an untruth, a misunderstanding. Again I held on to that as if it was the last life boat leaving the Titanic. I remained focused on the bottom line: that this was just a simple mistake. So I kept my mouth shut and turned a deaf ear to those alarms I heard blaring in my head. We’re good, we are all fine, nothing is wrong here, we’re good, I kept screaming internally.

Karen suggested that after she left, I should have a long private talk with Michelle. She told me I should keep a watchful eye out for certain changes. Things like if Michelle stopped wanting to be around Jake and grades in school falling inexplicably, just to name a few. I realized that these were things that had already happened, but I still remained silent. I just wanted Karen to leave so I could sort this all out. She said I needed to make sure all of the lines of communication were open. She said I needed to make sure I still had the kind of relationship that I thought I had with Michelle. Reassure her that she can tell you anything, Karen kept saying. Make sure she knows she can trust you. Make sure she understands that you will believe her. I heard her words. It seemed like she still had some doubts that all this was a mistake and that did not sit well with me.

I defensively informed this social worker that I diligently did all those things already and more. I have always watched everyone around my kids; I was like a hawk. I had even been chastised by my family for being overly protective. I was sure nothing like this would ever happen to one of my kids. None of my kids will ever become a statistic, I said as confidently as I could, but I knew I was on the verge of panic. I was trying to convince myself just as much as I was trying to convince her that I was a good mother.

I related the story of how many years ago I had dated a guy I had known for fifteen years. During one of his visits I got a creepy feeling that he liked my daughter more than he liked me. He bought her presents like he he had with me and I felt he was actually more comfortable around her. So off we went to the airport where I barely slowed the car down for him to get out. I popped the trunk, let him remove his bags and as he closed the trunk, I sped off and never spoke to him again. To this day I don’t think he knows what happened or why I did what I did. But this was my daughter. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t act on those uneasy feelings? What if something happened to her from this guy? Then I would be as much to blame as the pervert. Case closed, class dismissed. That was how I had dated. That is, before I met and married Jake.

My feathers got ruffled and I puffed up with that false sense of pride and an indignant, condescending attitude as I told Karen that as well as being very careful, I’ve often asked my daughter questions. I’ve educated my children about this type of thing and have been very cautious. I was a mother who was going to make sure none of my kids ever had anything like this happen to them. She seemed convinced then or at least she pretended to be and left my parents’ house with a promise from me to do what she asked; talk with Michelle. I am good, we are good, it’s all good, I kept privately reassuring myself. However, because of what I knew and wasn’t telling Karen, I took her advice and kept my promise to talk to Michelle. This would be where it all started I guess. This was the moment our lives changed forever. This was the start of my walk through Hell, my daughter’s nightmare uncovered, my worst fear realized. This was the beginning of the end of my life.

2

Before I went to talk to Michelle, I devised a plan. I would do and say all the correct things and she would respond with all the right answers. I got a glass of water, went to the bathroom and flashed my daughter one of those mom looks to let her know she was about to be questioned more thoroughly. With that sharp look I watched her recoil. Something inside my head scolded me and I reprimanded myself for setting up this talk for the outcome I wanted. That was not right. That was not the way to get to the truth of what was happening. When I finished in the bathroom I emerged with a softer expression and sat down next to my daughter, who was already sitting on the floor. That’s when I had my first feeling, about all of this. Something told me that I needed to be gentle, not stern or negative. Look at her, something said in my mind, Look at how scared she is. Then the mad mother inside me jumped in and quickly responded, "She better be scared, she’s in for it now!