Page 98 of Flawless
I smile at the group around me. There are eighteen young people in the room sitting on couches, chairs, and the floor with their knees pressed against their chests or pillows in their arms.
“I never thought that I would get out of that situation,” Carmen says.
“But you did. Now, you simply have to take it one day at a time, embracing who you were meant to be. You don’t condemn yourself for your mistakes. Every one of us will make a mistake every single day of our lives. And while I’m not here to preach to you, I will say that God forgives you. In Christ, you are forgiven. I don’t think it’s about whether He loves or forgives you.
“It’s about whether you will forgive yourself. That was the hardest thing that I had to learn to do. Even after everyone else forgave me for the hell that I put them through, I didn’t realize that I hadn’t forgiven myself. I was loved by a wonderful man, and my best friend and I were enjoying being back in each other’s lives again. I was close to my brother and his family, my cousins and theirs, and even my mother and father, but there was still something missing.
“One day, I was just lying on the bed, and the tears wouldn’t stop. I was like, why are you still so miserable when you have everything this world could offer you? Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Y’all, I’m telling you, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It felt like a heavy weight had been dropped on my chest. I couldn’t get my cry out, my eyes were stinging, and I thought I was about to die.
“My reality was that I had gone around begging everyone for forgiveness. I was working hard to show what a good person I was, but I hadn’t forgiven myself. That’s when the true healing began. When I began to see myself as different, as worthy of loving, of worthy of forgiveness, then I saw the love inside of me and all the beauty that others could see, but I couldn’t.
“Then I was able to release the pain of my past and truly live. That’s what I want for each of you.”
I look around at their faces and I see hope, I see pain, I see doubt. There’s nothing that I can do to change the bad any more than I can change the good.
Each of these beautiful young people will have to find their way along their journey. They are models who didn’t make it in the industry, they are actresses, they are reformed sex workers, and they are sex trafficking victims.
This group of young ladies and men ranges from sixteen to twenty-four, and they all have something in common. The same thing they have in common with one another is the thing that they have in common with me.
Shame.
They have either made choices that didn’t lead to anything good, or they had their choices taken from them.
The decisions that led them on the path they were on stemmed from a superficial longing for things in this material world. Things that are a poor substitute for love, healing, victory, truth, and righteousness.
I stand up and walk around the room, hugging each one of them. I say things to them like, “You’re worthy of love,” “You are strong,” “You are victorious,” “You are whole,” and so much more.
Some of them break down crying in my arms, and I stand there for however long it takes for them to get what they need from me.
Aside from my talk show,Nica’s Legacy,I have a nonprofit with the same name where I mentor young people who have been victims of sexual trauma, whether they made decisions that led them there or someone forced them into situations.
I teach everyone how to take responsibility and accountability for their own actions and decisions.
I never mislead anyone into thinking that I was a victim. I was only a victim of myself. No one forced me into those situations. I went willingly, thinking that I would attain something greater than what I had. It was all superficial.
Yet, some of these here are victims because they were forced into their situations.
When we finish, I say, “All right. Who’s ready for some refreshments?”
I usually order pizza after these bi-weekly sessions. Claire is our group counselor, and we have other therapists who come and support this group.
“Actually, Dani, let’s take the group to eat in the mess hall,” Claire says, getting up from her chair and leading the way out of the room.
We’re in the Danica Maxwell Recreation Center. Zenon purchased this building a year ago as a rec center for the kids in our community.
We offer all sorts of workshops here. We even have a soccer field out back where all of Zenon’s home games are hosted.
The group pushes past me and rushes into the hall.
“I guess they’re hungry,” I say to Claire, who is walking beside me.
We push the doors open as shouts of “Surprise!” rings out.
“What’s this?” I ask, turning to Claire.
She points to the rear of the room, and I see my brother, his wife, and kids, along with my parents at a table. Zenon walksout with Zílda, who recently turned eighteen and will be going to college at Columbia in New York soon.
In his arms is Briar, our ten-month-old daughter, who has her fist in her mouth. When she sees me, she waves and gurgles happily.