I never could have imagined that one decision to seek justice for myself would lead me to a completely new community, cause, and purpose. What began as a deeply personal journey toward healing and accountability would eventually connect me to something much larger than myself.
In November 2005, when I was 15-years-old, I was sexually assaulted. Though the crime was reported to law enforcement, my parents did not want to pursue criminal charges. And, since I was a minor at the time, the case did not move forward. Nearly 18 years later, having seen a video posted on social media by another survivor of sexual assault, I finally got the push I needed to reopen my case and pursue justice once again.
Protected by the extension of the statute of limitations for childhood sexual abuse—in Connecticut, victims can seek justice until thirty years after reaching adulthood, when they turn 48-years-old—I made the decision to revisit a chapter of my life that I had carried with me for nearly two decades. By March 2024, the police investigation was complete, and the detective assigned to my case had applied for an arrest warrant against the perpetrator. He was exceptional to work with and, despite the passage of nearly two decades and the absence of DNA evidence, was able to uncover sufficient evidence to move the case forward. For the first time in years, I felt like justice might finally be within reach.
That same month, my attention was drawn to another story of trauma and the search for justice. Posting about the hostages kidnapped into Gaza during the October 7 massacre, a Jewish friend shared information about their plight on social media, and it immediately captured my attention. Less than three months later, I joined the Run for Their Lives chapter in Fairfield, Connecticut, part of a global initiative of more than 230 groups advocating for the release of the hostages. At the time, I expected it to be a one-time gesture of solidarity as a Christian ally. Instead, I found myself returning almost every week, missing only a handful of walks between June 2024 and October 2025 when the last remaining living hostages were finally brought back home.
Run for Their Lives ended up changing my life just as profoundly as my own pursuit of justice. I never anticipated that a weekly walk would become one of the most meaningful and transformative experiences of my life, but from the very first gathering I was struck by the warmth, gratitude, and kindness of the people involved. I felt an overwhelming sense of compassion, hope, love, and connection, and knew that this community was different from the many other I have been a part of throughout my life.
By the time I pulled into my driveway after that first walk, one of the group leaders had already sent me a friend request on social media. Feeling welcomed and seen, I returned the following week, and the one after that, and the one after that. Over time, I came to know all three group leaders—Beth, Lauren, and Laurie—whose kindness, dedication, and commitment helped create the incredible community I had found.
Shortly after I began participating in the walks, I started following the personal stories of the hostages more closely. As I learned about their experiences, I discovered that many had endured sexual abuse while in captivity. Several men, women, and children who survived captivity courageously stepped forward to share their stories, telling of harrowing experiences no one should ever have to endure. As additional hostages were gradually released, more accounts emerged through news articles, documentaries, and television interviews. Their stories resonated with me in ways I was only beginning to understand.
Though I was already deeply committed to advocating for the hostages, learning that some had experienced sexual violence created an even stronger personal connection for me. As a survivor myself, I understood how difficult it can be to speak publicly about such trauma. I knew that telling your story often means reliving some of your most painful moments. And yet, the released hostages refused to stay silent. Their courage in sharing their experiences only strengthened my resolve to stand beside them and help ensure that their stories would never be forgotten.
My journey as a survivor taught me that healing is not a straight line. Sometimes healing looks like returning to the hardest moments of your life. Sometimes it looks like standing beside others in their darkest moments.
One aspect of the fight to release the hostages rang painfully familiar. Having experienced skepticism, judgment, and misunderstanding about my own assault, I noticed that both the hostages and those calling for their release often faced similar hostility. Despite advocating for the release of innocent people who had endured unimaginable suffering, the movement was frequently misunderstood, criticized, or accused of motives that did not reflect its purpose. Even the hostages themselves, held for months in underground tunnels, separated from their families, deprived of basic comforts, and subjected to profound physical and emotional trauma, often saw their experiences dismissed, minimized, or questioned. The more I learned about their stories, the more deeply committed I became to ensuring that their experiences—and their humanity—remained at the center of the conversation.
My own experience navigating the criminal justice system also exposed me to the many challenges survivors face in seeking justice. Working alongside advocates and activists to support legislative changes that would better serve survivors, I learned about Jane Doe No More, a Connecticut-based organization dedicated to the prevention of sexual violence through education, awareness, and survivor empowerment. By then, my involvement with Run for Their Lives had given me the confidence and strength to speak publicly about my own experience. The friendships I made through both communities reminded me that advocacy often requires courage, persistence, and a willingness to be uncomfortable. Watching the example set by my newfound friends, I learned that meaningful change often begins when people find the courage to use their voices.
Years ago, I never would have imagined speaking publicly about my experiences, let alone doing so on a regular basis. Today, as one of 72 Survivor Speakers with Jane Doe No More, sharing my story has become a powerful part of my healing journey while also creating opportunities to educate others and support fellow survivors.
The experiences I endured have changed me, but they did not define the limits of my life. Instead, they became the reason I continue to speak, stand with others, and fight for a world where survivors are believed, hostages are fought for, and people who have gone through unimaginable trauma are met with kindness, understanding, and compassion. Looking back, I could never have imagined where standing up for myself would lead. Yet, what began as a decision to seek justice for myself became a journey that connected me with communities, causes, and people who would transform my life.
My journey as a survivor taught me that healing is not a straight line. Sometimes healing looks like returning to the hardest moments of your life. Sometimes it looks like standing beside others in their darkest moments. Sometimes it looks like finding the courage to say, “Hineni”—here I am.
I do not know what my next “Hineni” moment will be, but I know that the next time I am called to stand up, speak out, and show up for others, I will be ready to answer:
Here I am.
Hineni.
