Chapter 10: SEX OFFENDER (SO) TREATMENT

Dec 30, 2023 | 2012, 2013, Life During | 0 comments

Click to rate this post!
[Total: 0 Average: 0]

Sex Offender Treatment Podcast Episode cover image
From Surviving to Living
(10) SEX OFFENDER (S0) TREATMENT: Personal Growth and Transformation
Loading
/

My caseworker had informed me that the Sex Offender (SO) Treatment program would remove barriers and open doors to privileges, but I nevertheless enrolled in December 2012 with an attitude problem. I was once again moved to Monahan and installed back in Lower B. Sylvia was still in residence, as was Gigi. Tamara was my newest roommate. We would be in treatment together. I also met Tina, an assertive and caring black woman with a great sense of humor. She was the current WoW clerk.

The treatment intake process began with psychological testing. Afterwards I sulked in the treatment director’s office, arms crossed, sullen. Noticing my posture the she said, “You look upset.”

Miserable, I explained, “I don’t understand why I need sex offender treatment. This is stupid. I am NOT a pedophile!” I glared at the wall, my face burned. I would do whatever it took to remove barriers for myself as a parent, but I was outraged at the barriers.

The director leaned over and responded, “We don’t think you are a pedophile. That’s not the purpose of the treatment.”

Surprised, I removed my glare from the wall, remembering a time 3 years earlier, the first time a therapist viewed me as a monster. Sitting in county jail, a psychologist came to interview me for sentencing recommendations. “Ms. Aho, you have a professional visit,” a guard told me. Sitting at a table in the jail’s dayroom, I looked up in surprise to see another guard outside the red entrance door, his face visible through the window.

I stood, smoothed my shirt, and walked to the entrance of the pod. The door clicked open, and I joined the guard in the hall and he placed my wrists in handcuffs. Then we headed for a small legal visiting room. As we neared, I could see a woman waiting inside. A metal table sat in the middle of the small room. The door clicked open and I studied the woman as I sat. Her appearance was unremarkable. She didn’t smile as the guard left us, the door clicking shut after him. Nervously I looked around and waited, my hands in my lap. “I am here to do a psych evaluation,” she explained.

I nodded. She held a notepad, clutching it tightly. My ankle suddenly itched and my handcuffs jangled as I awkwardly leaned forward to scratch my leg. The woman reacted, leaped backwards. Bent forward, my hand still halfway to my ankle, I froze too, scared, and peered up at her. Frozen, her face twisted with horror, she stared at my handcuffed wrists. I slowly sat back, desperately wanting to leave. ‘So this is how therapists see me,’ I thought, crushed.

Returning my mind to the present, I removed my glare from the wall and shifted my gaze to the treatment director’s desk, demanding, “What am I here for then?”

Sitting back in her chair, she crossed her legs and responded, “Let me ask you a question. Why did you have sex with your son’s friend?”

“My marriage was awful and I hated my life, wanting a divorce. I wanted…to run away from all my problems.” I fused my stare to the floor in shame.

Leaning forward again the director replied, “I wonder then, why did you use sex to solve a problem?” Surprised, I met her eyes. She appeared kind, respectful. It was a good question. My resistance slipped, a little.

I returned to my room. Tamara was napping. When I moved in no one warned me about Tamara’s past and her temper. She’d been to prison twice. She’d physically attacked every roommate. I never saw this behavior. In my view she was respectful and sensitive, but extremely insecure. Feeling compassion I worked to be approachable and patient. One day I failed to be kind, and told her ‘about herself.’ Our disagreement created tension and she decided to take a nap to avoid further discussion.

A few hours later she was still asleep when a standing count was announced. I looked over, she didn’t move. If she didn’t wake up she would receive an LOP for sleeping through count. “Hey Tamara, it’s time for count,” I said stiffly.

She rolled over and checked the clock, then looked at me in surprise. Most roommates would leave a roommate asleep in a similar situation, let her get an LOP in revenge. She nodded and rose. Her face softened.

She would be my roommate for the next year and we became good friends. I admired her persistence and resilience. I was glad to know her. She never attacked another roommate.

Over the next several months I tried to do well in therapy. I made friends with my neighbors. One day I was passing through the dayroom. Tina sat with Gigi and a few other women. As I walked by I overheard Tina say, “Stay away from that one. She’s bad news.” I glanced over to find her pointing at me. No one directly told me they had a problem with me. I didn’t know the reason for this comment. Anger flashed and my chest tightened. I pretended not to hear and kept walking.

The Memo of the Day announced enrollment for a new college class. The cost was $10. Sylvia saw me reading the memo, “Are you going to take the class?”

“No, I don’t have enough money,” I answered her.

Sitting in her wheelchair, Sylvia frowned. She had been a college professor in the past and valued education. I barely knew her but she said, “Oh, I’d help you pay for it if you want to go.” I believed she meant it, and I was surprised. I did not take that class, but the value of more education grew in my mind.

Early in my incarceration I was informed prison had an appeal process for visiting privileges. Inmates deemed a threat were placed on a list and visiting privileges assessed, from no visits to all privileges restored. My criminal charge placed me on this list and I was allotted noncontact visits with minors at intake. To restore privileges I should take parenting classes and complete SO Treatment, then request a review. By 2013 my four younger children were living 2,000 miles away. We spoke on the phone, but I had not seen them in a long time. I had already completed parenting classes. Now treatment provided a goal, purpose, a finish line. This clear goal focused me. The year 2012 had been spent in a fog of depression. I began going to the gym, easing into feeling better.

One afternoon at the gym someone said, “Have you thought of getting a job here?” Laying on my back in the gym I twisted, looking around. Kelly was heading across the nearly empty gym, making her way over to me. Not waiting for an answer she continued, “We need another worker in here, Linda went home.” Kelly, while not exactly a friend, was a familiar face. She loved the gym, worked there. I considered her question, excited at the possibility, but switching jobs would mean dropping back down to base pay, being poor, more poor, again. I did want to feel healthier, though, and working at the gym would mean constant access. “I’d like that,” I replied.

Kelly smiled and without missing a step she pivoted, heading for the gym office. “I’ll tell my boss. He’ll get you transferred.” It felt good to be wanted and I eagerly attacked the new job and lifestyle. Working out was like a new start.

“We’re going on vacation to Washington,” my mom told me one evening in April. “Chad has agreed to let us see the grandkids, so we are going to spend a week with them.” The news stirred many emotions in me. In my mind my children remained the ages I left them. In life they aged and on the phone their voices changed a lot. Sometimes years passed without a picture and then – and then I didn’t recognize their sweet faces, so I was desperate to stop the disconnect from worsening.

“I want to see them!” I stammered. My mind began racing. “I want to see them, too!” I reiterated.

“What do you mean?” My mom asked.

My mind was screaming. “What if we never get this opportunity again? He is unstable! I want to see them too. Can’t you bring the kids here to Minnesota?” I pleaded, not gracious, probably crying. I knew it sounded unreasonable, difficult, but I couldn’t imagine not asking. My parents agreed. How generous of them! Arriving in June, my children would enjoy an old-fashioned family road-trip that summer as my parents drove from Minnesota to Washington to pick them up and return, repeating the trip 2 weeks later to bring them home.

Now I wanted more desperately to acquire full visiting privileges so I could hug my children! I completed treatment at the beginning of June and immediately appealed my visiting restrictions. My children would be here in less than a week! I barely slept, barely ate. Agitated, I paced all night.

The day before my children arrived, my caseworker and Lieutenant Vavra, who chaired the appeal review committee, appeared at the gym while I was working. Wiping down equipment I looked up to see them at the door. Both waved at me, both had big smiles. Setting down my towel I walked over to them. Their smiles grew. My caseworker held a sheet of paper. She looked down at it, then passed it to me. “Your visiting privileges have been increased, congratulations!” She beamed. The lieutenant nodded his agreement, added his own approval. Looking at the paper, I was afraid it might disappear. It was my appeal form, successfully won. I was being granted normal visits with my children and I cheered with joy, floating to my room to tell my family the great news!

The next few days with my children were a dream. We spent hours and hours in the visiting room every day. Allowed 3-hour visits due to the distance in travel, we spent 3 hours each day Sat, Sun, Weds, Thurs, Fri, and again one more time on the final Saturday together. My daughter Vivi, now 6 years old, colored pictures for me while we talked. She was eager to tell me all about her recent travels with Grandma and Grandpa. “Guess what mom! We stopped at Yellowstone Park!” she announced proudly.

“Really! What did you do there?” I asked her.

Screwing up her face in thought she answered, “We saw ‘Old-Man-Thankful’!”

Giggling, I challenged her, “Do you think you mean ‘Old Faithful’?” referring to the predictable geyser.

“Oh yeah, Old Faithful!” she corrected, beaming.

Pointing to Vivi’s coloring, my mom asked, “Do they let you keep these?”

Sighing, I pointed to the wall where other cheerful kids’ drawings were hung. “No,” I started, and noticed Vivi stiffening with little girl anger. Hoping to soothe her I continued, “They hang them there so everyone can enjoy them.” Vivi remained unsoothed.

Along the wall were children’s books. Vivi loved books. She always asked me to read to her. After 2 years without her, the first book held a surprise for me. Lifting her onto my lap I opened a book and began to read to her. On the third page something unexpected happened, perhaps unanticipated by me because we had been apart so long. I had forgotten the little details of parenting. The reminder was a surprise and delight to me. Vivi, like all children soothed by a good book, did a trust fall. My arms were wrapped around her as I read, but suddenly all her weight sagged against me, and my arms were barely prepared to absorb her collapse. Her head also dropped, resting on my shoulder. I stuttered, stopped reading, staring at the top of her head, wondering. Vivi seemed unaware of my surprise, didn’t notice I’d stopped. She breathed deeply and waited. Tightening my hold, I resumed reading, my throat tightening.

Then there was my youngest son Timmy, who hated leaving visiting, pressing himself against me the entire visit. Age 10, he appeared small and fragile. Timmy’s medical condition required daily treatment and care. Left untreated, or poorly treated, Timmy suffered painfully. Timmy was suffering quietly now. He wanted rescue, needed comfort. I wished to save the day but couldn’t.

Thomas and Lukas, Timmy’s older brothers, were 12 and 14. Thomas is a social butterfly, charismatic. While he visited, he joked with the guards, strolling around like he owned the place. Lukas supervised his brother with a lordly smile and plenty of eye rolling. We enjoyed puzzles together as we talked and shared.

The week passed quickly. Soon it was over. My heart was soothed, it sang. Yet I felt heartbroken at its end. I hoped another visit might happen again soon but I didn’t know if I would ever see them again during my incarceration.

Horror returned four months later when I received news Timmy was in the hospital receiving lifesaving surgery. I would never have another visit like that again, and to date that is the last time I ever saw my daughter.

My life was still burning down.

 “When a corrupting spirit is expelled from someone, it drifts along through the desert looking for an oasis, some unsuspecting soul it can bedevil. When it doesn’t find anyone, it says, ‘I’ll go back to my old haunt.’ On return, it finds the person swept and dusted, but vacant. It then runs out and rounds up seven other spirits dirtier than itself and they all move in, whooping it up. That person ends up far worse than if he’d never gotten cleaned up in the first place.” Luke 11:24-26

Discussion questions:

  1. Reflecting on the treatment director’s question, “Why did you use sex to solve a problem?” prompts a deeper exploration of coping mechanisms. Can you identify patterns in your own life where certain behaviors served as coping mechanisms, and what insights can be gained from examining those patterns?
  2. In the treatment director’s reassurance that Holly is not viewed as a pedophile, consider moments in your own life when societal perceptions or labels may have affected your self-perception. How does societal judgment influence the way we view ourselves? Are you struggling with negative self-perception today? Do you need help?
  3. Explore Holly’s motivation for seeking treatment as a parent. Are there aspects of your own role as a parent or caregiver that you feel challenged by, and how do personal challenges impact your ability to fulfill those roles? You are searching for resources and support to help you meet these challenges today?
  4. Analyze the importance of understanding the purpose of a situation, as emphasized by the treatment director. How might a deeper understanding of the underlying purpose or motives in your own life enhance your decision-making and self-awareness? Are you seeking to understand purpose and meaning in your life?
  5. Reflect on the theme of personal responsibility and accountability in the passage. Are there areas in your life where taking ownership of your actions could lead to personal growth, and how does accountability contribute to self-discovery?
  6. Consider the impact of kindness and respect in the treatment director’s approach. How can incorporating these qualities into your own interactions foster a more positive and open self-reflection, as well as deeper connections with others?
  7. Think about the treatment director’s role in shaping Holly’s perspective. How can effective communication and understanding contribute to breaking down resistance and fostering a more open dialogue in various situations?

READ MORE

Click to rate this post!
[Total: 0 Average: 0]

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *