When trauma comes with shame: three women share their stories 

Shira Devorah’s Story

Tell me, what have I done? What crime did I perpetrate? My husband is in jail, not I! I was not the one convicted of money laundering — he was! Yet somehow, the painful circumstances are exacerbated by the humiliation of feeling judged.

I am Michael’s wife. By virtue of osmosis, I feel condemned.

Am I angry? On fire would be more accurate. When my husband was first arrested and subsequently convicted, I was consumed by a rage I’ve never felt before. How could Michael have done such a thing, risking our family’s well-being and security — for money? Not only that, but the financial windfall that he made from his get-rich scheme has long been depleted.

Six months ago, when the nightmare began and word began to trickle out, the stares and humiliation began. Some people avoided me, and others, even those I considered friends, stopped talking the second I came close. All conversation would grind to a halt.

My children struggled terribly. Many of their classmates started keeping a distance, as if having a father in trouble was a contagious disease. Thankfully, some of their closest friends remained loyal, as I experienced in my own circles.

Once the verdict was sealed and Michael was convicted, it got worse. We were official pariahs aside from our closest friends, who rallied around us. Even now, I shy away from most public gatherings so I don’t have to deal with the pain of socialization. It is excruciating to meet people in the store and around town. I feel their eyes boring through me, radiating disapproval and vilification.

As for my children — well, they know who their friends are. Sometimes my older ones skip social activities and sit home reading a book. Seeing their pain is the source of my greatest suffering. If only I could shoulder all of this for them and allow them to continue their innocent childhoods.

If becoming pariahs hasn’t been hard enough, we have other pressing issues that don’t let me breathe. The lawyer’s fees are outrageous, and our regular expenses are still present and demanding. So, instead of being our provider, Michael has dug us into an abyss.

I smile on the outside, but inside, I’m crying. It is so isolating to feel alone in a sea of pain so vast that no one can throw you a lifeline.

I would have sunk if not for some dear friends who, from the beginning, wholeheartedly offered me their support, helping me process and endure this unbearable pain.

When I need alone time, I settle myself on my piano bench and begin to play. As my fingers make music, my eyes rain tears. But the tears are healing.

From time to time, my rage still erupts, and I do my best to acknowledge and validate my feelings. But despite the intensity of my inner storm, I’ve learned that the flames of my fury will ebb; they will not consume me the way they did when this nightmare began. And once I arrive in a calmer place, I remind myself that this is a huge nisayon from Hashem, and I do my best to work through it.

Throughout my ordeal, HaKadosh Baruch Hu has become my best friend. My tefillos have never been so poignant, and I feel like He is listening intently, holding me close.

In due time, b’ezras Hashem, I know Michael will be freed. I continue to work on forgiveness, knowing that if we want to move forward, I will have to find it within myself to accept the upheaval he caused. Meanwhile, I navigate the dark waters with Hashem at my side, doing my best to keep the horizon in sight.