Being a Voice for the Voiceless

A personal essay by Talley Timms

“The human voice is the most perfect instrument of all” –Arvo Pärt

Last year, in preparation for an internship, I read a victim’s statement given by a ten-year-old girl who witnessed an argument between her father and stepmom escalate to the point of violence, ending in her father headbutting her stepmom and breaking her nose. What surprised me first about this victim’s statement was how careful the child was to protect her father, making excuses and minimizing the trauma, even though he clearly put her in a high-risk situation. What surprised me more was the obvious shame this child felt for events over which she had no control. But what surprised me most was how little I remembered of this witness statement considering that I was that ten-year-old girl.

Silencing my voice

When I looked over these reports, some of the details that I never told police officers or DCFS counselors came back to me very vividly, yet there are other details about which I still have absolutely no memory due to the dissociative effects of trauma. I purposefully never told authorities about events from the night in
question or countless other abusive situations—like the time he shoved my mother down the stairs while she held my baby sister, or the time he beat my second stepmother over the head with a hairdryer. The shame I felt over the fact that my own father continuously hurt the women around me, my own love for the abuser, and my own trauma strangled my voice from being fully heard to provide information that could have protected my three younger sisters and me from continuing to be the reluctant witnesses to abuse.

Finding my voice

The inability to have a voice as a child fueled my desire to regain a voice and advocate for victims who are often unable to recall salient details or even refuse to tell their stories. At the prompting of a counselor, I used creative writing as a method to understand my own feelings and experiences. I have become a powerful writer, a powerful speaker, and a powerful listener. In my journey to reclaim my voice, I recognized the vital importance of developing language skills as well as listening to understand what victims may be unable to say. I practiced my newfound desire to advocate for voiceless people with my three younger sisters by voicing our feelings in regards to visitation with our father and exposure to domestic violence. Because this often resulted in retaliation from my father, I understood the significance of strengthening other vulnerable voices; I began volunteering at the Road Home to help children experiencing homelessness learn to read and communicate—skills necessary to enable young children to use their voices. Because I withheld details from police officers and DCFS counselors as a child for fear of getting my dad or myself in trouble, I knew the gravity of creating a safe space for voices to be heard. I developed my advocacy at the Children’s Justice Center by volunteering to be the first person to meet with child victims of physical and sexual abuse to facilitate a safe environment for their voices to be easily and comfortably expressed.

Being a voice for others

Throughout my life I have gained strength from advocating for the most powerless in our society;

nevertheless, my advocacy has been limited to hoping, rather than ensuring, that victims can find the voice that I never had as a child. I want to go to law school to help me gain a greater understanding of victims’ rights and the laws protecting them. I will be able to expand the limited advocacy that I have practiced throughout my life—with my sisters, the Road Home children, and the Children’s Justice Center victims—to make a lasting legal impact for victims like my childhood self whose voices have been silenced and consequently discounted, dismissed, and disbelieved. I will combine what I learn in law school with my front-row experience to domestic violence, allowing me to become a powerful, empathetic, and effective advocate for those who need a temporary representative. A lawyer is a powerful voice for others. I want to be that voice.