In a recent case that sparked outrage, a young man named Jason Mitchell was released from prison after serving only three months for sexually assaulting an unconscious woman. His father, Mark Mitchell, infamously stated that this lenient sentence was merely a “steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action.” The phrase itself is so deeply disturbing that it left me grappling with my own emotions for hours. Twenty minutes of action. Just twenty minutes.
To say I am appalled by this characterization would be an understatement. Yet, it’s a stark reminder of how such a phrase can trivialize the profound trauma inflicted upon survivors like myself. Let me share what “20 minutes of action” has meant in my life.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve avoided baths and relegated myself to quick showers. I dread entering swimming pools. Why? Because my abuser would often assault me and then wash away the remnants of his actions while I was submerged, masking his heinous behavior under the guise of affection. If anyone saw us together, they would assume he was just a caring relative, but in reality, he was erasing the evidence of his vile acts, knowing that I was too small to fight back.
Does this make you uncomfortable? It should. I refuse to remain silent about my experience. The shame should lie solely with the abusers and those who enable them.
As a parent, it takes every ounce of strength for me to join my kids in the pool, watching them revel in the joy of childhood. Yet, even in those moments, I feel like I’m drowning in memories that suffocate me. Twenty minutes of action has cost me precious time not only with my children but also in battling my own scars from the past. I spend twenty minutes daily grappling with my body image, a struggle compounded by my history of anorexia. It steals my peace of mind, making me anxious about their safety and suspicious of those around them.
In more tangible ways, this trauma manifests in my health: I now require a catheter due to damage caused by the abuse. I find myself spending countless hours in doctors’ offices addressing these physical repercussions. Daily, I wonder if my past has made me unlovable or incapable of nurturing my kids without projecting my fears onto them.
I’m exhausted from living in a world that seems to prioritize the future of abusers over the well-being of victims. This isn’t merely a drinking culture; it’s a society that often turns a blind eye to the plight of survivors.
To the courageous woman who bravely shared her victim statement, I stand with you. Your voice matters. Keep speaking out, keep resisting, and keep fighting.
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In summary, the implications of “20 minutes of action” extend far beyond a fleeting moment. They infiltrate every aspect of a survivor’s life, transforming joy into anxiety, and connection into fear. It’s crucial to not only acknowledge these experiences but to advocate for a culture that prioritizes support for victims over excuses for abusers.
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