Journal logo

Healing Hearts

A Story of Inspiration and Hope

By Ashley AnsonPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
Like
Transformation

I walked out of law school fresh and new. It wasn’t really about the money at first. I had dreams of changing the world. I had accomplished a dual degree, and with a Juris Doctorate and a Masters of Environmental Law and Policy under my belt, I would show them what sustainable land law truly looked like in these rural states.

Stepping out into the legal field, I took a deep breath anticipating inspiration, and the air was pulled from my lungs; hope slowly drifting from my body. I could not pass the bar. It was a grueling couple of years of studying; life as a single mom, a brimming new relationship, and moving into a new home on the list of changes.

Third time was a charm, and reality hit me like a clear glass windowpane smack to the head. I lived on the ranch, twenty miles from town, and there wasn’t a law firm in sight. Environmental Law mentors were few and far between or rather, non-existent, and it was up to me if I wanted to see my dreams come true.

Fate intervened, and I started working for a firm with a satellite office in the next rural town over; a forty-mile drive down winding back roads every morning from the ranch. I was five months pregnant with my second child, and financial stability was stinging in the back of my mind, a nagging voice that said, “take whatever you can get.”

My career quickly evolved into a practice of court appointed cases and criminal law. I never envisioned myself as a criminal lawyer, and even abhorred those classes in law school; avoiding them if I could. Soon, however, Judges in my circuit began appointing me regularly and it became second nature for me. I was good at it, even if I hadn’t expected this trajectory.

Court-appointed lawyers are lacking in rural areas and you take whatever type of case comes flying through the revolving doors of the court room. I noticed an uptick in my appointments for juvenile delinquency cases, and abuse and neglect proceedings. Two years in and I was pregnant with another child. Judges began to assign me to working with children primarily, and I was glad for it. Defending the parents who put their drug and alcohol addictions before their precious children was difficult at best.

The Juvenile Detention Alternative Initiative was brought about in my state around 2016 at the time I started my defense career. More and more, Judges were imploring defense attorneys and state’s attorneys to develop creative solutions to the incarceration drama playing out across the state.

Ushering in 2021, I stood outside a courtroom reviewing my notes. The Judge would be in any minute. I hadn’t even met the child yet, I thought, and checked my watch. Five minutes.

"Counsel, step into chambers, please." The Judge disappeared behind a large steel door. The State followed me inside the chilly office. Judge looked up from his papers, "I hope to hear that you both have a creative solution for this young fellow?"

"I—I'm not sure what you mean, Judge." I pulled on my jacket and picked my thumb with my index finger.

"Well, I think the only option is incarceration, Judge, we don't have anywhere to send him." The State was dressed in a sharp blue suit and wore her hair straight. She shifted her weight onto her non-dominant leg and looked at Defense Counsel, crossing her arms.

"Unfortunately, I would have to agree, Your Honor. The only facilities that would take this young man require a mental health diagnosis. There's no alternative for youth in our community. His family life is terrible; he has a father who glorifies criminal behavior, and an absent mother. I hate to say it, . . ." I sighed, ". . . but incarceration seems to be the best plan."

The Judge pondered over his papers, and with a swift nod, the meeting was over.

I walked out into the hallway, a sentencing argument in my hand to review with the fourteen-year-old boy. He sat in a chair next to his father, slouched over, hiding his face with his greasy brown hair. "Will you follow me?" I said, and turned on a black heel and walked him into a sterile room with white walls and blue chairs. "I just had a meeting with the State and the Judge—you can sit—you are most likely going to be sent to the Juvenile Detention Center. They have good programs there, and they will get you a decent education. Most of all, I think it is best for you to be away from your father for a while."

He lifted his chin at me and scanned me with his eyes. Then he puckered his lips. "So, how are you doing?"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you know what I would do if you were my son? Most children are not wandering around the streets at the age of fourteen until one or two in the morning let alone vandalizing property."

He sat up straighter, but now there was a half-cocked grin on his face. "Yea, but I aint your son."

I straightened my black jacket at the hem line and asked him if he had questions. Hearing none, I led him into the court room.

"I will first hear from the State and then Defense Counsel," Judge said. He listens to the State's argument and turns his attention to Counsel with soft blue eyes and a flat affect. "Go ahead."

"Your honor, I-" for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure what to say. How could I argue that the best place for a fourteen-year-old boy is locked up until he is eighteen? But, where would I send him? Am I wrong that his parents can't handle him on probation?

I glanced over at the boy's father, who was dressed in a white tank top, tattoos lining his arms, one of which was slung around his boy, the other in his lap. He was slouched back in his chair, no respect for the Court. The boy was positioned as far away from me as possible, leaning into his father for support. The boy smiled at me.

I looked back to the Judge. "I am speechless for the first time in my career,” I cleared the lump forming in my throat, “I know this boy wants to go home, but I don't feel it's the best place for him. I have to argue for probation because that's what he wants, however, I cannot sit here and tell you he has any remorse for his actions and that the State's request for incarceration is unreasonable."

The boy sat up, wide-eyed and intertwining his fingers.

The Judge raised his eyebrows and sat silent for a minute. "Well, it certainly seems, young man, that your attorney is trying to argue for probation on your behalf. However, it also seems that you don't think probation will help in re-directing your behavior because you do not feel you were wrong in vandalizing private property, is that correct?"

The boy shrugged.

The Judge glanced back at counsel, a crease between his brow starting to form. "It is the Order of this Court that the boy be sent to Juvenile Department of Corrections, to be kept, clothed, and monitored under their jurisdiction until discharge or until the age of majority." The Judge smacked the stack of paper onto the desk in front of him and with a loud whack the proceedings were over.

I watched the boy hug his father in the hallway, my stomach in knots. There must be something that can be done to provide for an alternative to sending these kids to a life of imprisonment. But what?

Four weeks later, I sent out an e-mail to the Judges in my circuit informing them that I would no longer be accepting court appointments. "I have decided to open up a day camp for youth to provide alternatives to detention," it read.

"What do you mean? You're just going to stop being a lawyer?" One Judge asked me an afternoon after court.

"Sure, why not? I have an art background, music background, writing background, multimedia and animation background, and interests in farm to table practices, cooking, meditation, yoga, gardening . . . " I tucked my blonde hair behind my ear and smiled at the baffled expression on the Judge's face.

"Don't get me wrong, we need someone like you providing services like these to our youth. I am especially interested in the skills-based curriculum you are indicating. But, we will sure miss you around here, you have been an asset and are a promising young attorney." Judge smiled at me like a father would his daughter on her graduation day.

"Thank you. I will miss everyone, but I won't be far. I plan to figure a way to use the courts to send referrals for at-risk youth to get involved in my programs." I winked at Judge, chuckling. "But in all seriousness, I just feel that this is right, and that this is needed, and that I am being asked to answer this call." Smiling at Judge again, I said goodbye.

That conversation took place more than six months ago, and today I am in the process of creating a non-profit corporation to provide detention alternatives to at-risk youth in my community. The 501(c)(3) charity designation through the Internal Revenue Service will take four to six months at the least to complete, and I am in dire need of funding. The Courts are eagerly anticipating my grand opening, and a facility is nowhere in sight. I have been working with the diversion program out of one county and the success rates of diverting these at-risk kids from recidivism rates has been astonishing. During the month of May, we did not have one new juvenile petition arise in Davison County.

My first night starting with working with these youth one night a week, I spoke to two journalists doing a podcast out of Wyoming. The story I wrote about above is not unique to South Dakota. It is happening all over the nation. South Dakota used to be number one on the list of states that incarcerate their youth. Now that the JDAI initiative has been adopted, Wyoming took that spot. The podcast starts with a story of a girl who entered the system that ended in her suicide. Taking kids from their families isn’t the answer to this narrative playing out for America’s youth.

I have a background in the arts, therapeutic intervention, environmental food policy, and legal expertise, and I have so much to give to help these kids learn cognitive behavioral therapy concepts, art expression, writing, drama, music, meditation, yoga, and cooking. These skills will help them navigate life even in the family dynamics they are born into. Learning positive thinking patterns despite the trauma is a skill that cannot be monetized. However, early intervention is key. Receiving funding for a facility, art supplies, funding indigent children, and staff for the non-profit would help foster a community of inspiration and hope; those two things I lost so long ago starting out on this journey.

I started out my career taking cases because they paid the bills. Now I need the money, not just for my family to thrive, but also so that inspiration and hope can find their way into our nation’s families. America’s youth are counting on all of us to come together to foster togetherness, connection, kindness, and love. It takes a village, and that village starts with you. Imagine if one entire population of individuals gave a dollar toward this goal. These youth would have a home that is safe, secure, and starting them on their way to healing. Have the heart to heal and you can heal your heart.

career
Like

About the Creator

Ashley Anson

I am a lawyer and mother of four; I love writing, and I am passionate about sustainable living practices. I have extensive experience in oil, acrylic, and watercolor painting, singing, poetry, writing, and other crafting hobbies.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.