In my state, all guilty defendants of a domestic violence charge are ordered to attend a mandatory 36-week DV Treatment class. It's a weekly group meeting hosted in the same facilities one might find a UA (urinalysis) or breathalyzer clinic. The facility I attend also hosts anger management, substance abuse and mental health programs for both men and women. Each session is $25 and you fail the course and risk violating your probation if you do not pay every night.
My first consultation with my attorney revealed attending these classes was certainly a part of my future. I proactively sought to get started with the program, both knowing it might help my case but more importantly - I desperately wanted to know why I committed the crimes and how to stop myself from ever doing it again. Last night was my 7th class.
It's held in an unassuming building on the edge of a ratty suburban residential neighborhood. Several small rooms are sparsely decorated with public service posters, emergency escape routes and various ancient notices regarding payment plans and state regulations. The bathroom has a large dressing mirror positioned behind the toilet bowl to make it easy for someone to observe the act of providing a urine sample. It's not a flattering angle for me.
The group is led by a wonderfully nice emigrant Venezuelan lady. She maintains a nice balance between getting across the points we need to learn with a fair amount of banter and recounting of our cases to one another. Convicted offenders LOVE to share the facts of their case, particularly; "Who was your judge?", "Who is your PO?" and "What was your charges?". Even I have done my fair amount of brain-picking to try to contrast my own case against others. It's enlightening and yet ultimately useless: You get what you get and once you got it (at least in the case of taking a plea bargain) - that's all folks.
The group begins with "check-in", where we each take a turn updating the group with our current situation and state-of-mind. If the person on the hot-seat is new, they introduce themselves and give everyone a fairly detailed recounting of what led them there and their history. The group leader won't let anyone get away with "My week was fine. Work is good." She is quick to lock in eye-contact and say "No. No. No. Ju hab to tell us more. Please." Some guys always resist and evade.
I always go in reminding myself to not only be open to the group, but to be painfully honest to myself. I'm not suggesting I ever lie to myself or anyone - but I have caught myself resisting some truths I simply hadn't realized. Over time, I've found myself actually eager to be surprised. It is an experience I find cathartic. I also try to respectfully assist the instructor to "get through" to some of the guys. It is sometimes painfully obvious that her English may very well be too good for the audience, so I try to rephrase some things I know might make better sense in "average English". I don't think I've offended anyone by assisting, but I'm careful to gauge the mood of the group and the facilitator before I do.
Last night the group went off into what I at first I thought was a wild tangent from whatever the leader had in mind. I then realized that not only was this a subject she often covers but that she also doesn't have a strict lesson plan or roadmap. I figure 36 sessions is more than enough to cover everything necessary at least once and half of everything at least twice. So the group descended into what felt like a bitch session about how unfair "the system" can be on certain cases. This was an irresistible subject for me. I firmly believe that I am getting the punishment and help I deserve, but I also am quite sure that for myself and my wife - we're being put through a lot more than is fair for a first time offender.
So, after about 40 minutes of everyone taking their turn to passionately reject certain aspects of their conviction the facilitator asked "So what would you change?" Many of the men either had no answer or simply said "I can't change it, so why exhaust myself with the question?" I could tell the facilitator felt these people were "getting warm" but they were not yet "hot". I was second to last. After some time to think about it, I felt I knew what the key was. I said, "There are many things I would like to change, but the only thing I can change is myself." I think I hit the nail on the head for the evening. The dude after me said "What he said. I think that was the most profound thing I've ever heard here." I was embarrassed and I blushed as I normally do. My ears were hot and my face burning. The facilitator simply smiled and look me in the eyes as she nodded. "Jes. The only thing ju can change is jerself."
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