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                                                                        Custody Battles:  Winning and Losing Custody
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PARENTS: If you want to know what you are up against in the courts, you  MUST BE INFORMED.  You must know what the attorneys are telling your spouse to win custody.                               WHAT MEN ARE TAUGHT ABOUT WINNING CUSTODY

                                                             Letter to the Judge

Pam asked me to put a letter to her judge on my site.  I am happy to do so.              
These are really love letters for the children for them to one day understand
what lies in the hearts and minds of the ones the system has failed.

Pam is an activist and writes and speaks on custody issues in New Mexico.

Pamela Ann Wolff
3819 Sunset Boulevard                                                        
Houston, TX  77005-2051

July 25, 1997

The Honorable Maryellen Hicks
311th District Court
1115 Congress
7th Floor
Houston, Texas  77002

Dear Judge Hicks:

You may not remember me, I am one of many women who passed through your
courtroom last year.  To you, I may have appeared as a well-educated and
articulate woman, capable of functioning fully and ably within our society.

At one time, I did function well, but that was before we met...before I
divorced my abusive husband in 1993...before he began his campaign of
unparalleled terror...before my all-too-public humiliation and psychological
deterioration...before custody of my children was transferred to my husband
without my knowledge...before family members refused to come help me when I
needed them most...before being "laid-off" from one job and then fired from
another.  I was changed by those experiences, devastating events which
occurred in rapid succession, giving me little time to catch my breath.  In
a blur of days and years, I've struggled to get back on my feet and found
that, for women leaving abusive relationships, there is little mercy and no
justice.

I am writing to you because you impressed me as a woman who is sympathetic
to the difficulties women face in a society which seems to care little for
the welfare of women and children, a society that mouths empty words of
politically-correct rhetoric which ultimately maintains the status quo.  I
am asking you to notice women like me, the survivors who come into your
courtroom with visions of a better life for themselves and their children,
and to give them justice, not the letter of the law.  Lighten their burdens,
so they can focus on regaining the confidence and strength cruelly stolen
from them by those taking revenge for their truth-telling and leaving.  If
you don't do it for them, then do it for their children, who learn fairness
and compassion from those who touch their lives.

By the time we survivors appear in your courtroom, we've made tremendous
leaps of faith to trust again.  In following our dreams, we have no choice
but to trust an over-burdened legal system, affordable but incompetent
lawyers, poorly funded agencies and shelters,  insensitive police, nervous
CPS officials, and, of course, all those good intentions.  We are alone,
frightened, and, ultimately, betrayed in the worst way by those who promised
us justice and peace of mind.  Just as we embolden ourselves to venture
beyond the known, we are victimized again, betrayed by a callous network of
profiteers and bureaucrats who are more concerned about dollars and
procedures than human beings.  (You can imagine how I felt when I took my
divorce lawyer to a grievance hearing, only to find her lawyer was a judge
who'd been pressured to resign from city council because of ethics problems!
God help us, these are the people who make decisions about our lives.)

Last year, despair led me to join a support group that meets weekly at the
Houston Area Women's Center.  I wanted to be with other women who had
survived abuse and to access services that would help me rebuild my life.
In listening to the women in my group, I found all our stories reflected
themes of abandonment, betrayal, and loss.  Like battle-weary veterans, our
common experiences drew us together and we were known to one another through
our sorrow and grief.  Unlike veterans, we had no entitlements, no G.I.
Bill, no Veterans Administration, no representation.  Every week, we'd meet
to be patched up and sent out until the next meeting.  There are patterns in
our stories, and in telling mine, I tell you others.

Shortly after my divorce, I was laid-off from a job I'd had for seven years.
Panicked, I took the first job offer that came my way, a consulting position
with a firm that made a lot of promises but kept few.  I knew I'd made a bad
choice and began looking for another job but was fired before I could find
one. Reeling from the corporate mayhem, I decided to start my own business,
something no one could take away from me.  When that didn't work out, I
registered with several employment firms and sought assistance from a United
Way agency.

I interviewed for a few jobs but received no offers.  Eventually, I began
working with a small consulting firm for commission only.  As a hard-worker
with a history of achieving goals under difficult conditions, I believed
this opportunity to be one for which I was well suited.  After four months
of increasing disillusionment, little satisfaction, and no money, I recently
left that company.  Having worked since I was 15 years old,  these last two
years without income baffle and frighten me.

I agonize about the possible reasons for my unemployment, hoping to discover
its cause and solve the problem.  Perhaps it's due to the turbulence of the
early nineties, which eroded professional opportunities for individuals with
my experience; or the debilitating impact of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
and clinical depression on my abilities to think clearly and move with
confidence; or the workplace gossip about my ex-husband's stalking and his
removal by security officers from the premises of my former employer.  As if
the stress of being unemployed wasn't enough, I must also handle the
mind-numbing aftermath of domestic violence.  I assure you, the fate of
those of us who leave our abusive relationships does not encourage other
women to do the same.

Sixteen months ago, I was in your courtroom requesting elimination of child
support and health care insurance payments until I could re-establish an
income stream.  You decided to reduce, not eliminate, my child support
because I "have responsibilities."  You said this after my lawyer directed
your attention to the grounds for my divorce ("cruel treatment and adultery
on the part of Respondent") and despite the fact my ex-husband makes over
$100,000 a year.

Receiving a generous salary and benefits from a large corporation, my
ex-husband is able to meet any material needs our children may have.  As for
my obligations, I've demonstrated the utmost in responsibility by leaving an
abusive husband and becoming an effective advocate for my children.  I've
paid the price for their freedom, enduring humiliation, betrayal, terror,
and hardship, so they can have a life denied me.  Why, then, must I send
money to a man who drives a new BMW, admits to "cruel treatment and
adultery," and gleefully tells me there's no free ride?  Why must I pay
child support and insurance premiums during a time I can ill-afford it, when
I'm floundering and doing my best to find my way?  Tell me, Judge Hicks,
when did our society decide the convenience of equality was preferable to
the wisdom of equitableness?

With my savings exhausted and retirement funds running dangerously low, I'm
selling my house and the possessions of a lifestyle long gone.  I'm
preparing to move to New Mexico, where I have no past and no need to explain
myself.  Of the all the decisions I could possibly make at this time, it is
the least imperfect.  In New Mexico, I'll find privacy, the healing silence
of a desert, and hopefully a job.  I'm looking for the homeland long denied
me, and I'm going alone.

I question how it has come to be that I must leave my children in the care
of a man who lives without integrity, and who even now barely manages to
keep his temper within acceptable limits.  Over the past four years, I've
documented my ex-husband's behavior, pressured him into counseling sessions,
and made every effort to have outside parties investigate and monitor my
children's well-being.  Without affordable and competent legal recourse,
I've had to involve the community in my children's lives.  This isn't what I
planned for them, Judge.  My children were supposed to be with me.

My children and I have discussed my upcoming move in detail, and I have
their blessing.  Over the years, they've observed my struggle to survive
financially and psychologically.  They want me to succeed, even if it means
my moving 800 miles away.  At a very young age, they're having to learn
about personal sacrifice.

There is risk in writing to you, Judge Hicks.  I've declared myself a
survivor, revealed intimate details about my life, and violated the rule
that says the less others know about you, the less they can hurt you.  But I
believe the good this letter can accomplish outweighs the risk I incur.  It
is a historical account for my children and a voice for those rendered
speechless by their horrifying lives.

I've never asked for a hand-out, only a break.  I grieve that my many years
of hard work and achievement have been swept away by the brutal hand of
violence; that no one but a very few could see, would see, what was
happening to me; that I had to lose almost everything because I did the
right thing.  And I want to tell you that you can make a difference in the
lives of women who leave abusive relationships.  Those brave, frightened
women who leave everything they've ever known to make better lives for
themselves and their children, who do it with little, if any, support from
others; without giving up, going back, or selling out.  Most of us never
make it.

Yours in good faith,

Pamela A. Wolff