“Are you sure you want to plead guilty to this?”

I looked over at my attorney, I looked over at the prosecutor, I looked over at the two men who had come with me for moral support, smiling at me with their thumbs up in the Utah court room. One of them had been making fun of me for being a “dirty criminal” all morning, and somehow, him and his best friend were the only two people I had to support me at the time. I was an insecure shell of a human being.

You see, I had accidentally gotten myself in the middle of a domestic dispute, taking an expensive pair of Buckle jeans to a child whose father was withholding all of her belongings from her to punish her for wanting to live with her mother. They were in the middle of a nasty custody battle, and I was caught in the crossfire. The father had created a very convincing story to the local police department that I had “stolen” items from his house, when I had just grabbed a couple things the mother told me to, thinking I was helping out a child who needed some of her items. What I completely wasn’t aware of as a 22 year old? Powerful men who lie to intentionally abuse their exes. He was making a convincing case for his side of court, and he was winning.

The mother of the child who asked me to help was in extreme fear of losing her child. Her best choice was to cut me off. It’s taken me a while to understand, to come to the place where I don’t blame her for what happened. She was not the one abusing. She was trying to make it out alive and accidentally hurt me on the way out. I see that now, and if she ever finds this blog, I want her to know that. We’re not perfect. We were both accountable in that situation but we were also both victims.

Here’s what people don’t understand about the justice system. It’s certainly what I never understood - being that a police officer found me lost on the side of the road and took me home when I was 5. I’ve believed for most of my life that they’re the protectors, that the processes work. Like oh, someone was charged? They’re in the wrong. Someone stole something? They should go to jail. Someone didn’t do it? Oh, well, charges can just be easily dropped by the state then. The authorities are in the know. They’ll protect us. They got our back. They know about justice more than anything.

Nah, it’s way more intricate than that, and the system is not built to support many of the people that pass through it. I learned that day that it’s built mainly for money. At that point I had taken the blame for everything all my life, so it wasn’t a problem for me to take the blame for this even though it was something I didn’t do. After all, my attorney said it would save me thousands of dollars. I did not have thousands of dollars to spend fighting a case against the state, to keep flying back from Washington to appear in court. I could barely live. I wasn’t thinking about my worth - how it had dwindled to nothing numerous times over that year. I was thinking how I wanted it all to be over. I didn’t know that this was something that would follow me around for 5 years. It would affect my ability to get jobs, to work in certain schools, to feel safe and trust in my connections. I completely lost my voice.

No one looking at someone’s criminal record sees that silent meeting with the prosecutor beforehand, where he regretfully discloses that the people who called the police to charge you with theft were now dodging every phone call from investigators. Why? Well, it was rumored all of the child’s supposedly “stolen” items were back in the home somehow. There were actual texts from the child to prove it.

“They won’t answer any of our phone calls to answer our questions, so we see what likely happened here.” The prosecutor had kind eyes, and looked at me very matter-of-factly, as if he knew I’d been screwed over by toxic people who spent their life on the offense.
“So that means I’m innocent, right? Can’t the case just be dropped? They can’t prove that I took anything, because all of those things are back in their house. And besides, they were all _____’s things. I took her items that were hers, I didn’t steal anything.” I looked at the both of them desperately, pleading for some kind of out.
"Well that’s not really how it works,” my attorney told me, “you were already charged by the state. It sucks, but you would have to spend thousands of dollars now to fight that charge and convince the state of everything to clear yourself. Your best option right now is to take this plea deal.” His voice was strong but sorrowful.
"Which is what we’re going to talk about right now,” the prosecutor told me matter-of-factly. “This is an unfortunate situation so the lowest thing I can charge you with is…”

My head was spinning listening to him speak. Nothing seemed right about this situation. My stomach had been in knots for months over this. I couldn’t believe I was actually in a courtroom for giving a child her own jeans.

“Attempted trespassing.” He said it and I was confused.
“Huh?” I looked at him not understanding what he meant by that.
"That’s what you’re going to plead guilty to.” My attorney said.
“I’m going to plead guilty to something else I didn’t do?” I questioned.
“Yes, that’s your only option because you’ve explained to me you don’t have the money to keep coming to court. Is that true? If you plead guilty today, we can have it expunged in 3 years, completely off your record in no time, it’s just a misdemeanor, no problem.” He looked at me to ensure that this was what I really wanted to do. Since I didn’t know anything, I shrugged and told him I’d do what they said.

The two men shook hands and we walked back into the courtroom so I could stand in front of the judge. I knew nothing of the law, but I knew what had just happened did not make any sense or sit well with me inwardly.

When the judge read back to me what I was being charged with, he scoffed. I’ll never forget the look on his face. “On _____, 2016, you attempted to enter a room you did not belong in?” He looked up at me, seemingly disgusted that this was on the docket. “Seriously? Why is my time being wasted? Are you sure you want to plead guilty to this?” He looked at me sincerely.

“Yes.” I said quietly, looking around the courtroom, unsure of everything and everyone, afraid I was going to say something wrong and be thrown in jail. That’s where my worth was at.
We did and said what we were supposed to and finished the strange process. I paid my fine. I got on a plane and flew home.

Now that I know what I know about the system, I wish I wouldn’t have plead guilty when I was 22. I wish I would have paid the money to fight the state. I wish I’d done something to advocate for myself and my worth when no one else did, but this was my learning.

When I worked to get this expunged from my record a few years ago, I learned that the process of expungement is even more infuriating than actually getting charged with a crime. I spent months sending in numerous forms with money, wondering if I would be rejected by them or not. The first two times I was rejected. After paying hundreds, they eventually did accept my expungement, and it’s now no longer on my record, like it never even happened.

But I’m not ashamed of my story, and I don’t try to hide it. I have to tell it.

I have so much compassion for those out there who are wrongly charged by the justice system. For those who had no boundaries and got themselves in sticky situations where they couldn’t find a way out due to financial or other problems. I write this today to say that I see you and stand with you in what you’re going through. Just being charged with a crime sends so much fear through you, and makes you believe you’re a bad person because the state sees you as a criminal. You internalize it.

I’ve stayed pretty silent about this for years, for fear that others will judge me for what I went through. Yesterday I attended a domestic violence awareness event and heard amazing, resilient women tell their stories and it gave me the courage to tell mine here. I hope one day I’ll be able to verbally speak it like they do. I am still, many years later, working on getting my voice back.

You have options. Don’t let anyone convince you of anything until you educate yourself. Find people who have been through it and know what to do. I know it’s scary. I know it’s one of the worst things you can move through. But your freedom, your safety, and your voice is important. Don’t let anybody ever take it away from you.

Because take it from me, you could spend years in fear and chaos if you do.

Fight for your worth. It matters.