two faced

Until recently, if a child was looking for resources to escape an abusive environment, the back of my head would be the first thing they'd see on the Dee Norton Child Advocacy Center’s website. I remember the day the picture was taken; the photographer wanted me to look as generic as possible, so he had me turn around and reach for the gate behind me to hide the scars on my nose and lip. People were never really sure how to address my Cleft Lip and Palate, but always seemed reassured when I’d tell them what my doctor had told me: “I’ll look normal soon enough.” People were much less reactive to my scarred and misshapen face if they thought it was temporary.

Possibly due to this misshapenness, I was a physically awkward child. I had a gap in my teeth that needed to be filled with a fake tooth, and a gap in my thighs that was treated as an accomplishment by people around me. I could not control what happened with my face, so I overcompensated with the rest of my body. For hours, I’d do sit ups in my room, telling myself that the yelling from downstairs was just my fat going away. After doors slammed and cars started, I’d run laps around my living room until my body felt as empty as the house.

Once my parents found out about what was going on, my life became filled with doctor’s trips and hospital stays. The fourth time I was discharged from the psychiatric ward, one of the staff members told me she loved me and hoped to never see me again. Instead of hospital visits, my life is filled with a determination to keep going.

I was thrilled by the idea of having a clean slate when I started high school. But when I caught the administration violating Title IX rules in their handling of sexual assault, my own experience with sexual assault compelled me to advocate for students' safety. A friend and I filled the school with posters raising awareness about the repeated occurrences of sexual assault on our campus, and organized over 100 students to help spread awareness. Hearing so many students’ stories gave me insights into my own experiences, and I began to make peace with my past. Thanks to them, I stayed full of hope and sought to transfer to a new high school. I was able to keep a brave, even if scarred, face. It had become the face of revolution. 

Teenagers still come up to me asking whether my name is Emily, and whether I organized the poster campaign at my high school. My face is still scarred and misshapen, but people look to me as a person, and as a leader. People look to me when I speak at board meetings about injustices in our school system; people look to me when I organize a youth march through the city; people look to me when I’m the lead in the play after school. After each performance, I see the empty theatre and feel full of love. I’m passionate about acting because I can fill other people’s hearts with my voice and a story, and that’s inspiring.

I’m no longer the hollow person I once was. Instead of roaming my empty house, my brother and I fill it with our laughter over cartoons. We eat dinner, and no longer feel the need to empty my stomach. I have learned how to take in the turmoil in my life and grow from it. I can fill the world around me with passion, justice, and art, and in turn the world fills me with hope, drive, and love. I have found ways to fill my emptiness, to open gates for myself, and to directly face my fears; I want to spend my life showing people they can do the same.