The Child Advocacy Center of Aiken County (CAC), located at 4231 Trolley Line Road in Aiken, coordinates investigations, treatment, and prosecution of the most serious cases of child abuse in Aiken and its surrounding counties. The building, staff, and volunteers provide a safe, nurturing, healing, child-friendly environment at no cost to the families who need it. A 501(c)(3) nonprofit, the CAC also provides training, education and community outreach to break the cycle of abuse. For more information, visit ChildAdvocacyAiken.org.
I was asked to speak at a volunteer recruitment tea for the Child Advocacy Center last fall. Unfortunately, I personally know individuals who have been summoned to the center for the services provided within. I myself needed such services as a child, but did not receive any. With the memory of my own trauma, the horror knowing someone else who experienced something similar, and the recognition of how many carry the weight of abuse, I was not even sure how to start my speech. Instead of focusing on what happened in the past or telling a tale of overcoming the trauma — because, truth be told, you never overcome it — I decided to fall back on my architectural roots to describe what it was like to go through The Center, in hopes of inspiring volunteers and staff, and in hopes of reassuring those who need the services to be brave and stand a little taller as they walk through the doors.
More often than not, dread fills those who require the services of the Child Advocacy Center. As you approach the Center and park, feelings of dread are immediately disarmed. The building is a cute craftsman style bungalow. The color palette is calming, a creamy and neutral tan for the main part of the building and pleasant darker green shingles on the gable ends that blend with the surrounding trees. It belongs. You belong. As you approach the entrance, you notice the tall crepe myrtle; the painted rock garden radiating from its roots delivers messages of hope and acceptance. Others have come before you, and they have made it back out armed with the first glimpse of closure.
As you approach the front door, you are welcomed with glass: glass windows are placed like a ribbon around the building, shining light into each room, casting out the darkness. The glass front door is transparent, so there are no surprises. You find comfort in what you can see and understand, especially when trust has been broken. The foyer is small and purposeful. A beautiful painting adorns the wall, and light pours in to brighten your spirits. As you turn left, the receptionist greets you with a loving smile from behind a glass partition. The partition does not feel like a separation — it feels like a safety precaution. She is safe, and so are you. The nondescript door to the right does not call attention to itself. Instead you are drawn to the door on the left. The receptionist invites you into this room and promises that someone will be waiting for you on the other side.
As you open the door, you are greeted not only with a softly smiling face, but also with a room of wonders. As the exterior windows promised, light enters the room and brightens every corner, leaving nothing hidden and everything illuminated. You are given a brief description of what to expect in the next few moments. You are ushered to a comfortable sitting area, while your child or children are given the option to explore the room until their caseworker joins them. After a brief initial conversation, your eyes are free to wander over the furniture, flooring, walls, and the multitude of sensory filled items that call the room home. You are immediately drawn to the fish tank in the center of the main wall. The constant low trickling of the water and humming of the water pump lull you into a more relaxed state. The bright colors within the tank and the slight movements of the fish darting to and fro bring life to the room. There is something that lives and thrives in this room. It is safe.
The adults are seated on a couch and chairs that give hugs. (I personally and shamelessly looked for the tag with the information about the maker of said warm hug furniture in an attempt to add it in my own home.) With a voice of experience, you are given an explanation of the steps ahead. The dread wants to creep back in. You remember that you are not alone. You glance over to your child playing in the other half of this magical room. Toys, stuffed animals, playful art, and books are all within easy reach. Children are immediately drawn to one item or another, escaping for a moment before the hard part begins.
The caseworker enters the room from the door in the back corner that leads to the heart of the center. The introduction is just as warm and inviting as the two that came before. She talks to your child at his or her level of understanding, explaining what is to come and offering reassurance that he or she is not alone. You are asked whether you have any other questions. With a long embrace, you tell your child that you will be right here waiting for him, that you know he is brave, and that you love him very much. And then your child and the caseworker disappear through that door in the corner. You sit back down in your warm hug and say a prayer.
The caseworker leads your child down a hallway leading to rooms on the left that look like living rooms, like home. They enter one, and your child is invited to take a seat. What happens next, I cannot speak to. I was never the child. From my understanding, your child gives an account of what happened. Once the testimony has been given, a medical evaluation may be required. This one breaks my heart — the examination to find the extent of the violation. The room where this happens lies at the heart of the center. Not in a corner, not in the front, or in the back. Right in the center. It is surrounded by rooms of life, comfort, and care. It is a process. Once the examination is over, the child returns to the comfort of the wonderland of toys, the life of the fish tank, and your loving arms. It is over.
The nondescript door to the right of the foyer leads to brightly lit offices and a large conference room. The ceilings are high and the room feels expansive — there is enough room here to process and work through all of the trauma that comes through the front door. The training classes offered here educate volunteers, staff, and local authorities, and armor them with the tools to battle abuse. Board meetings are held by individuals with enormous hearts who want to make the world a better place for our youth. It is truly an enlightening space and one I was honored to be invited to enter.
Whether you arrive at The Child Advocacy Center in need of help or wanting to provide help, it is a hopeful place to be. Though I pray trauma and abuse do not summon me back again, I know if they do, I will be cared for. As for volunteering, I have cherished the opportunities to serve The Center, and I encourage anyone who wants to look hope in the face, and embrace it, to walk through that front door.
