Friends,
It wasn’t until It Takes A Village started several years ago, that I personally began to better understand the ways in which women in our community are exploited and live in fear for their safety and wellbeing.
One of the most poignant examples of this for me happened late one Friday afternoon as I was packing up my work bag and ready to head home. The back door of The Village is often open even if the storefront is closed, something that sees community members slip in barely noticed for support with many different things. On this particular day, I heard the door open and shut and, in short time, a woman stood in my office door. I recognized her from in The Village, someone who navigated daily the intersectionality of many overlapping social and health determinants that impact a healthy life.
As she stood before me, soaking wet and cold, she appeared both bewildered and vulnerable. “I need help,” she said, as she began to cry. “I can’t do this anymore.” I wasn’t sure what was about to come, but my soul understood that she felt safe to be here. And that spoke volumes.
I locked the back door, concerned that perhaps there was the threat, now to both of us, of intimate partner violence. As she continued to cry and apologize, I asked if she would like a warm drink or something to eat, and perhaps a change of clothes. “Let’s just take a few minutes and breathe, OK? Get you warmed up.” Eventually she began to share the circumstances that brought her to The Village, speaking of similar things I have heard from many women before her.
“I was living around, wherever I could find a spot to sleep, and then I got arrested. I couldn’t be released on bail because the Crown wanted a residential surety, because they said I was homeless.” She went on to explain that; again something we know happens so much when family, members are struggling, relationships had broken down and there were really no options for someone who would be willing to act as a residential surety, so that she could be released from jail (in a brief explanation, a surety is someone who will guarantee to ensure the accused adheres to conditions set out by the court. A residential surety is one who agrees to allow someone to reside in their home, while on bail).
“I’ve burned all my bridges with my family,” she expressed, ‘And I didn’t have anyone else to ask.”
She went on to explain that, in desperation, she reached out to a casual acquaintance that she knew in the past, in hopes that he might be willing to let her stay at his place, desperate to get out of jail and ideally until she could get a bed at a residential rehab. To her relief, the friend agreed. And soon after she got out and settled, his demands for sexual payment started.
As she sat in The Village, she expressed many times that this situation was all she deserved, all she was “worth.” It pained me to see how vulnerable and hopeless she felt, as though the traumatic and painful years of her young life had etched some deep, indelible prophecy on her soul.
“I just can’t do it,” she cried. “I can’t. I can’t live like this.”
I could feel the embers stirring in my belly.
For a few moments, we sat in silence, as I thought through what to do next.
Many of the suggestions I offered were declined, as she questioned who would believe her over him and expressed again that she felt she had brought this sexual exploitation upon herself. It was soul crushing.
And a scenario I had heard before, of exploitation for sex through controlling measures, such as withholding substances someone was dependent on, providing meager shelter options or threats of physical violence. Women have also expressed fears of sleeping or showering, for the potential to be assaulted while that much more vulnerable.
And supporting these community members to feel strong enough to tell someone or to leave, let alone understand that they are not responsible for this, is consistent work for the many organizations that are here to help.
Eventually this woman made some calls while at The Village, finding a safer place to stay and making the appropriate arrangements with a lawyer, empowering herself through the fear that this man would call in to the police and express she had violated her residential surety conditions, so she would be arrested again. When she left, she seemed visibly to feel stronger, if even for a little bit. A few days later, she came in through the back door again. She was thrilled to say that she was heading to rehab.
“Thank you,” she said, “For believing that I was worth more.”
My heart smiled.
“I’ve known that all along,” I replied. “Maybe you just needed to feel it for yourself.”
Take good care of each other, friends.
***
Andrea Charest is the director of the Listowel It Takes A Village location.
