Sexual Abuse & Domestic Violence

Content warning: This article includes descriptions of sexual assault and other violence that may be difficult for some readers.

A former Alaska resident living in Utah has been charged with kidnapping and murdering a Homer woman who disappeared in 2019.

Authorities arrested Kirby Calderwood, 32, in Ogden, Utah on Monday, according to a statement from the Homer Police Department.

The charges against Calderwood are the first public explanation of what happened to Anesha “Duffy” Murnane since she went missing in October 2019.

Homer police “actively investigated the case ever since, chasing down hundreds of tips and talking to numerous people,” the police statement says. The department also hired an investigator whose sole job was to track down Murnane.

Murnane, 38 at the time, was last seen in downtown Homer walking to an appointment that she never arrived at. Searchers on foot and on ATVs, as well as by air in a helicopter, were unable to find her. Based on tracks by search dogs, police said at the time it appeared someone in a vehicle had picked up Murnane.

That is alleged to have been Calderwood.

According to the charges, here’s what police say led them to Calderwood:

Calderwood had been considered a person of interest in the case in May 2021, but the charges do not explain why.

Then, an anonymous tipster in April 2022 gave specific information about Murnane’s disappearance that had not been revealed publicly and named Calderwood as the person responsible. Among other things, the tipster said Calderwood still had a watch that belonged to Murnane.

Two of Calderwood’s ex-wives and his ex-girlfriend in Homer told an investigator, in separate interviews, that he harbored violent sexual fantasies — including that he wanted to torture and kill someone — and had been sexually abusive toward them.

On Thursday, police pulled over Calderwood’s car in Utah and searched his home, where they found a watch that matched Murnane’s near a missing person’s flyer about her disappearance.

Investigators also interviewed Calderwood’s current wife, who turned out to be the anonymous tipster. She said Calderwood told her in 2021 that he’d killed Murnane, who he’d known because he worked at the assisted-living facility where she lived.

According to the wife, Calderwood had told her he hadn’t specifically intended on killing Murnane but had seen her walking while he was driving around looking for a victim. He offered her a ride, then told her he needed to stop somewhere for a phone charger.

The wife said Calderwood told her he took Murnane to his then-girlfriend’s parents’ house, where he’d prepared their crawlspace as a place to torture someone.

The wife said Calderwood told her he’d pushed Murnane into the crawlspace, where he raped and killed her and disfigured her body, according to the charges.

The charges say Calderwood claimed to have put Murnane’s body in thick plastic bags and a fish tote before leaving it in a dumpster, which was near the home of an elderly woman he cared for, so that he could look at the dumpster.

It’s unclear from the charges what happened to Murnane’s body. Police never announced finding it.

Homer police declined to comment, but said the investigation remains open.

Anyone with information relevant to the case — especially about Calderwood and his possible interactions with Murnane — is asked to call the Homer Police Department at 907-235-3150.

On Thursday, hundreds of advocates for missing and murdered Indigenous people gathered in front of the Alaska Capitol Building in Juneau. 

Most of them wore red. That’s the color of the movement to remember murdered and missing loved ones and to bring awareness to the violence that Native people are 10 times more likely to experience than the rest of the population.

Many had red handprints across their mouths, representing the people who have been silenced by violence.  Drummers and dancers performed the Women’s Warrior Song with members of the crowd joining in.

It was Anne Sears’ first MMIP event since starting her new job. Sears was the first Alaska Native woman to serve as state trooper. She retired late last year, and then in April was appointed to a statewide leadership position tasked with investigating unsolved homicide and missing persons cases involving Alaska’s Indigenous people. 

“I have felt like everything that I have done in my life, the 30 years of public service, my time as a state trooper, my growing up in Alaska, being the daughter of an Indigenous woman has all led to this moment,” Sears said.

There are a number of unsolved missing persons cases in Juneau. She said in talking with local law enforcement, Tracy Day’s name keeps coming up. Day is a Lingít woman who went missing in Juneau in February of 2019. Her family and friends have used social media and organizing to draw attention to her case. Sears says she wants to bring new eyes and strategies to the table in cases like Day’s.

“I’ll be making some new inroads in a different way. And I look forward to that and maybe helping some families find closure, I don’t know. But I would like to. I would like to make that a goal,” Sears said. 

Events like this march are important to give focus to the cases and shed light on victims’ stories. 

“I think it’s super important for the families to know that they have a community behind them,” Sears said.

X̱’unei Lance Twitchell, a language professor at the University of Alaska Southeast, spoke to the lived reality of Alaska Native people experiencing violence.

“We want those who come after us to say ‘was there really a time when this happened?’ Because we will protect each other. We will look after each other. We will have a culture where it’s safe to walk at any time at any place,” he said.

Twitchell has a wife and young children. He worries about his wife’s safety alone at night.

“Who has to walk the dog at night?” he asked.“I do because I know what will happen. I know there’s a chance and there’s a risk and that’s not what I want.”

Twitchell said that making a change won’t be passive or easy.

“But to make a new day you have to make a bold move. That means naming what has happened, creating a shift that is real and that has increased accountability, less violence, and that people know we are the human beings of this place,” he said.

The group marched to Elizabeth Peratrovich Hall, accompanied by drummers. There was a whole slate of speakers planned for the evening and a shared meal.

Anne Sears said that she hopes people will continue to care about missing and murdered indigenous people every day of the year. 

A new provision introduced with the reinstated federal Violence Against Women Act allocates funds to empower tribal governments to exercise jurisdiction on tribal land.

On March 15, President Biden signed into law a $1.5 trillion omnibus spending package that included the reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act. The law makes it clear that Alaska tribes can act to protect women at risk in their communities.

“Alaska tribes deserve the same kind of protections and resources that other communities in Alaska and the lower 48 receive and don’t even think about it,” said Association of Village Council Presidents spokesperson Joy Anderson. “So this is really pretty historic.”

With the strong backing of Alaska Sen. Lisa Murkowski, the reauthorization made it through the Senate long after it was passed by the House. She said that there is plenty of evidence that the current system is not doing the job of protecting rural Alaska women and children.

“One out of five Native young people has suffered from PTSD due to childhood exposure to violence; we know that the status quo is not working,” said Murkowski. “And when one in three Native villages lacks any law enforcement presence, we know that something has to change.”

Nationally, the act would allocate $5 million for the Bureau of Indian Affairs to address missing and murdered Indigenous women. But an additional $3 million was provided for some states, including Alaska, to provide for training and the needs of tribal courts. Alaska will receive the bulk of this funding through the Alaska Tribal Public Safety Empowerment Subtitle.

The provision includes two sections with significant changes to tribal jurisdiction. The first part offers clarification.

“Pprior to VAWA passing, if you had asked, ‘Do Alaska tribes have criminal jurisdiction over Alaska Natives or American Indians within village boundaries?’ you probably would have gotten a variety of answers,” said Anderson of the Association of Village Council Presidents.

Congress has now provided that answer.

“What this part of the bill does is clarify that tribes do have criminal authority over Natives within their village boundaries,” Anderson said. “And that’s not dependent on whether or not there’s Indian Country.”

The bill also establishes a pilot program for tribes to exercise what’s called special domestic violence criminal jurisdiction. This recognizes the authority of tribes to exercise criminal jurisdiction over non-Native people who commit certain crimes against a Native victim on tribal land. These crimes include stalking, domestic violence, and sexual assault.

The tribes now await the details on how to apply, according to Winter Montgomery, Tribal Justice Attorney for the Association of Village Council Presidents.

“We’re in the beginning process,” said Montgomery. “So when the U.S. Attorney gives us the full criteria, we’ll provide that to the tribes.”

But the pilot program does have stipulations.

“The pilot would be for five tribes. And that would include a group of tribes that could apply as a consortium,” said Anderson. “So five would initially be able to begin exercising that special criminal jurisdiction. And then each year, while VAWA is authorized, an additional five could be added each year.”

According to Murkowski’s deputy communications director, Hannah Ray, the U.S. Department of Justice is required to prioritize tribes that occupy villages where the population is predominantly American Indian/Alaska Native and that lack a permanent law enforcement presence. They must also make a determination that the tribe has adequate safeguards in place to protect the rights of defendants.

The city of Nome has settled a lawsuit with a former police dispatcher after officers mishandled her sexual assault report, her attorneys announced today.

In March 2017, Clarice “Bun” Hardy, an Iñupiaq woman, reported to the Nome Police Department that she’d been sexually assaulted. Lawyers for Hardy say the Nome Police Department took more than a year to investigate Hardy’s report. A year and a half after her report, her alleged assailant had not been charged.

In 2020, Hardy sued the city of Nome and two police officials, alleging they mishandled her rape accusation. Today, Hardy says her case represented more people than herself.

“I quickly realized I wasn’t the only one Nome Police Department disregarded,” Hardy said. “Hundreds of other people were ignored, too.”

The hundreds of cases she mentions were actual cold cases that were backlogged in the Nome Police Department, many of which were sexual assaults reported by Alaska Native women. Hardy was represented by American Civil Liberties Union attorneys.

As part of the settlement, the city of Nome paid Hardy $750,000 and issued an apology.

“The NPD’s failure to respond, as it should have, caused Ms. Hardy to suffer unnecessarily, and we are deeply sorry,” city officials wrote in the settlement.

Hardy thanked advocates, community members and attorneys who brought attention to her case.

“It’s been a long painful journey today, but I’m healing and trying to move forward,” Hardy said.

Both the police officer who handled Hardy’s case as well as the department’s chief at the time have since resigned from the Nome Police Department. According to Hardy’s attorneys, in the years since she filed suit against the city, the Nome Police Department has largely reduced its backlog of cold cases.

On Tuesday, President Joe Biden signed an omnibus spending package for fiscal year 2022 into law. The nearly 3,000-page bill includes a reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act, or VAWA.

As a Delaware senator, Biden helped write the original piece of legislation nearly 30 years ago and has long championed the law. As president, he spoke about the measure on Wednesday.

“Even in 1994, we knew there was much more we had to do,” he said. “That was only the beginning. That’s why because of all of you in this room, every time we’ve reauthorized this law its been improved. It’s not like we didn’t know we wanted to do all these things in the beginning. We did as much as we could do and keep trying to add to it.”

The law focuses on domestic violence and sexual assault survivor programs. The reauthorization includes language that empowers tribes to prosecute non-Native perpetrators of child violence, sexual violence, sex trafficking, stalking and other crimes.

The tribal provisions of VAWA also create an Alaska pilot project that will allow a small number of Native villages to exercise special tribal criminal and civil jurisdiction over non-Native perpetrators in some cases.

Akiak Native Community Chief Mike Williams is also the Alaska region vice president for the National Congress of American Indians.

“This reauthorization of VAWA empowers us to take the necessary steps to build healthier and safer tribal communities in Alaska and across Indian Country for generations to come,” Williams said in a news release from the national Indigenous rights organization.

Editor’s note: This interview contains accounts of sexual violence and childhood sexual abuse. If you or someone you know is a survivor of sexual abuse, confidential resources are available through the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-4673 or rainn.org.

The stories of Robert Hale’s crimes, his religiosity and his family’s way of life still reverberate in Alaska nearly 14 years after he died in an Anchorage jail, having been convicted of rape and incest.

Those stories now include a book by the oldest of the family’s 15 siblings, Elishaba Doerksen. Doerksen’s book, “Out of the Wilderness,” details her father’s abuse and explains how she escaped from him despite being shuttered away in the wilderness near McCarthy.

Doerksen says it’s all been a long, difficult journey.

Listen here:

The following transcript has been lightly edited for clarity.

Elishaba Doerksen: Growing up was definitely normal for me in the mountains. It was at 9,000 feet in the mountains of New Mexico. And I think probably the best way of describing the view from my little girl’s heart was, this was normal life and surviving off the land. Every day, we worked really hard to live. And the world outside, from my father’s view, or through his eyes, was that it was really evil and wicked and dark out there. And pretty much I felt like a wild animal — that if someone showed up, we would run and jump in a hole, and I knew how to disappear and hide. And then, in the year of 2000, we moved to Alaska. We were pretty much stuck in town and in like garages, and squatting in little cabins, until we found the mountains, way out in the Wrangell mountains up past McCarthy, and definitely a different type of surviving, because we had really, really cold winters. But it really wasn’t that different because we knew how to survive a lot of harsh type of wilderness life. That was what was normal.

Casey Grove: Was there a point point that you realized growing up that your family was a little bit different than the outside world? And I don’t mean that in a bad way, I just mean that quite a few people grew up different than you did. Was there ever a time where you realized that was different?

Elishaba Doerksen: I think I knew it from pretty young age, because when we went to town, when we did go, and we would go far away, we would be in an old truck, an old ’41 Chevy truck with a barn on the back of it. And I remember looking out the windows and through the cracks of the barn that we had built in the back of it and just watching people walk around. And like the vehicles and the life out there was just so foreign and so different than us, like, we really were different. And then there was times where we would all get to go into the store with my father and my mom, and we would all be barefooted. And we got ran out of the stores by the managers. So in my mind, people just really hated us, like we were really not liked by the world, in my mind. So I could see through the cracks, what it was like. And then when I did experience the world, it was definitely really different. People would say a lot of things like, “Wow!” and think we’re crazy, amazing looking and always want to get pictures of us. And that was when we were actually in a public setting.

Casey Grove: What was life like when you were out living in the wilderness? How did you guys get by? I mean, how did you, you know, get food and all that kind of thing?

Elishaba Doerksen: So we had animals. We gathered animals over the years. We had all sorts of animals that we lived off of and meat. And most of the time, I spent my time just working really hard, like my brothers and I, we worked our bones into the ground every day, taking care of life and hauling water. And it seems like most of the time I remember starving. I cried so many tears being so hungry. We’d be out in the mountains with the sheep and with just a little bit of food in my pack that would last all day long, like one little tortilla with beans in it, and I’d just cry because I was so hungry. And many times I would just run into the house and grind up — we had a hand grinder — and grind up the corn or some wheat out of the barn bin and make up patties. And I was, you know, I think I was just so controlling as a big sister trying to keep everybody from starving. To this day, I have nightmares of not having enough food to feed my whole entire family, because it’s like, I would do everything I could to make sure everybody got the same amount and we would be starving after working all day. But then, as the years went by, we actually ended up getting rid of most of our animals and we started just poaching and hunting for food. But between that traveling, we started digging in trash cans, and even my father would take us far away and have us like beg off the streets and try to get food and money. And he would send me out with a baby in my arms. And I just looked like this poor pitiful mother with a child in my arms, and people would just yell at me. I’d go back into this little mini bus we had. This is just a stage of our life in between going from New Mexico to Alaska. And I would go back into this little mini bus with my father, and I was just, “I can’t do it. I just can’t do it.” And he would just turn on me and threaten pretty harsh beatings if I didn’t get out there and do what I needed. He would also accuse me of being like this man pleaser. I said, “I’m just so scared. It’s horrible. I can’t lie. This is awful.”

Casey Grove: I don’t know what to say, other than I’m sorry that you had to go through that. Let’s talk about the abuse. Because I understand that’s a big part of the reason why you wanted to write this book. What can you tell me about that, I guess that you feel comfortable sharing?

Elishaba Doerksen: Yeah. So when I was born, my father was already molesting girls. But of course, I didn’t realize that then, and I was just a baby. In later years, he boasted about how he took me into the shower and got a sexual drive over my little naked body, which is really sick. But for me, from my side, in my heart, I just had this deep longing to be loved, like everyone does. And I would literally crawl to my dad, even though he would beat me and push me back. And I’d keep crying and keep going toward him. Because he did give me affection. And over the years, I was sort of deemed as daddy’s girl. But he told me that my job was to keep him happy. Because he could just scream and yell and just make the mountain shake with his anger. And I would just hold my siblings in the corner and shake, like just terrified for what was going to happen next. And I would watch my parents fight, and my mom scream.

And then, when I was even around seven, what I was experiencing was, he would make me his little girl, and I’d sleep with him at night, and I’d be on his good side. And then the next moment, within just a flash of a second, I could be thrown out and be a servant to the family, where I’m hauling wood, and I’m hauling water, and I’m not allowed to eat. And I’m just crying and getting whippings all throughout the day. And I would watch my own siblings go through the same thing. Where, like, the whole feeling was, well, we got to make Papa happy. And if we don’t make him happy, we’re in trouble. So throughout life, and the dynamics of the abuse that we were going through, which was really normal for us, we would be pitted against each other. And when I turned about 12, 13, up into that point, because my father preached the Bible and that’s all we heard was the Bible, and we didn’t have education, but we heard the King James Bible, and we would even listen to it on tape every night. We weren’t allowed to do anything but listen to that. So I had this conscience before God, I guess. I thought then it was, but it really it was before my Father, that I had to confess to him every sin I had, like, even if it was a bad thought. And so I would confess to him.

And when I turned into a little lady, that’s when things really switched for me, because I remember going to my mom, actually, and I tried to tell her about some sexual struggles I was having. And she told me, “Well, you’re gonna have to talk to Papa about that.” And when I went to my father, I was sat in front of him and just interrogated for all of my thoughts. And he told me that I was this harlot and this prostitute and sent me out of the house. And so during that time of punishment, I was so confused about, “What am I? What kind of young lady am I? And does God love me? Does my father love me? How could this life be even good?” And I was already longing for death, so my father would finally forgive us is how we he put it, which is not true forgiveness, but he would say we were forgiven. And after, I think it was about a month at that point, where I had been starved and sent out of the house, his way of drawing me back in was, “OK, you’re going to get in the bath with me now. And we’re going to have a special time and we’re going to talk.” And he took me on this little trip and told me that he wanted to talk to me. And he asked me what I wanted to know. And I said, “I don’t want to know anything!” And he was so angry, that I didn’t want to hear it from him, about sex, that, at that point on, I kind of was put in prison where I was supposed to be at his feet, not allowed to have fun. And either I was at his feet or in the bath with him, in bed with him at night, or I was kicked out of the house working really hard. And when I was 19, he just went all the way and started sexually assaulting me and raping me and physically assaulting me. I would be beat up. So after a lot of violence, he would end it with with sexual abuse. And this happened day and night. All the time.

Casey Grove: You don’t need me to tell you this, but that — that’s terrible. And again, I’m really sorry that that you had to go through all that. How did you actually get away? Can you describe actually escaping?

Elishaba Doerksen: Yes. So one morning, I woke up beside my father, and he started pounding his elbow right into my chest and told me, “Get up right now.” And I sat up, and he said, “I want to know why you’re going against me.” And this happened hundreds of times. But this time, I literally sat up with, like confidence in my heart. And I said, “Because I’ve never ever, ever wanted you to touch me the way you touched me. I never ever wanted this. And I just don’t love you.” And he went white. And there’s just curtains, only thing between my father and me and my family was these curtains. I come out of the curtains, and I just saw my mother and all my brothers, everybody sitting there on the couches, I guess quietly hearing this. He told me to go get the whip. And I just went and got that whip and brought it right back to my father. And that whipping almost felt good, because it was like I had spoke the truth, and I was ready to do what it took to prove to him that it was wrong. And I didn’t care how much I suffered. But it still took me two and a half months to get out. And my brothers had finally disappeared, the older brothers. They all told me, “You better get out of here, you have to leave.”

And my father decided that he was going to go into the little town and McCarthy and get some fuel. Normally I wasn’t allowed out of his sight — like seriously not allowed out of his sight. But this time he left me at home because he didn’t want me to be seen by my brothers. And once he disappeared I threw a whole bunch of food and supplies onto the snowmachine, but it wouldn’t start. He had sabotaged all the snowmachines before he left. So with my sister’s help we got one snowmachine going and we headed out and got down onto the riverbed, and the thing just fell apart. It was like one of those bad dreams where you’re like, “OK, I am so dead right now.” I looked up into the mountains both ways, and I stepped off the trail. The snow was up past my waist and it’s 20 below zero. I knew my father was just at the other end and getting ready to turn around and come back up. So I only had a window of time. So I look up and my sister, she ran back to see if they couldn’t get the other snowmachine going. And, meanwhile, I’m literally trying to sew the belt together with baling wire. And I did, I got it sewed together and got about 10 feet and the whole thing fell apart again. I was just desperate. But I look up, and she came back down the hill with a snowmachine, another one, and we just piled onto that snowmachine and headed out again. Got off that hill and up against a snowbank, covered up with white sheets, and within 10 to 15 minutes, no longer than 20 minutes, here came my father, and I could see him through the trees with my brothers pulling the big tank of gas. And it was really scary because in that moment, I knew he’d get to the top of that one hill and know that I had left. The snowmachine was missing. And so we just soon as he passed, headed up the hill, we took off and went about, I don’t know, so many miles an hour that I just about ran into trees and just kept going, because it was a trail. And then missed the rendezvous with my brothers. And I just couldn’t wait, I had to hide. I had to get out of sight before my father came back down the hill to find me. And we ended up making it underneath a tree. We just stayed underneath this one tree, right outside of McCarthy along the road. For five days, I wouldn’t move. And my father taught us well how to hide, like I knew how to hide and not be found. And so that was a pretty narrow escape. It wasn’t till like, five days later that we made our way to a phone and called my brothers. And they came in the night and took me out. So, yeah, and then it took me three weeks before I would even go around anybody. I still just had to stay in the woods. I was scared.

Casey Grove: Wow. That’s incredible. It sounds like it must have taken a long time to come to grips with any of this. It’s probably something you’re still working on. But you wrote this book about it, and I wonder, how did you get to the point where you can talk about all this and write about it?

Elishaba Doerksen: Well, thanks for asking. That has been a journey. A big journey. It’s been one that I chose to take, because I could see that all the things done to me was one thing, but what had happened inside of me was another. And the way I would react to, even true love, or why I would react to the loss, when I faced the fact that, here I was 30 years old, I had my first birthday party. And just that by itself showed me when I didn’t have all my life. And I didn’t have schooling, I couldn’t just go get a career. And I didn’t even know how to date guys. I didn’t get to do that. And so I also was just like, the truth of what I didn’t have was so painful that it sent me into such anger. I was just the opposite of forgiveness. I wanted my father to pay. I wanted anybody to pay. I wanted my mom to pay for not doing something about it. I was angry. And it was a process where I finally reached a point in my heart where I was done. I was ready to take my life. There wasn’t any reason to go on. My father was in jail. In my mind, I saved my family now, and that was how I saw it like, “OK, he’s locked up, nobody’s gonna get hurt. There’s no reason for me to live anymore.” You know, spiritual abuse is really rough, because you don’t know anymore, what is God about? Except for what I was experiencing throughout my life.

I had actually ran off. I was out in the mountains for 10 days, and I couldn’t accept anything. There was just no answer for me to change. And I called it the invisible chain my father still had on me, even though he was locked up. He still had a grip on me. I was done. And then it was at that point where I just reached out and I just cried out to God. I said, “Is there any hope, like if there’s even a small amount of hope, I don’t feel worth anything.” And it’s that moment where I experienced just choosing that God loved me. And he gave me worth, not because of everything I was or anything I had done or not done. I was actually worth everything to him and to others. And so I came off that mountain just ready to accept my own choices in life and how I was even causing damage around me because I couldn’t accept love. I couldn’t accept forgiveness. I couldn’t accept it. I really was OK. That sounds weird. But after that I ended up pretty soon falling in love with my husband, Matthew, and we got married in ’07. We still hadn’t gone to court with my father. It had been just drawn out the way court is. And so, on our honeymoon, we went back to the places where I had been so abused by my father, just to walk into those places was like he was gonna reach out and grab me and pull me down again. And my husband put his arms around me and just loved me, and we cried together, and we built new memories and walked away with redemption and just a new experience. So then after that, I faced my father in court. And I was like, you know, I can forgive him, I just want to put it all behind and move forward, if only he could just admit he was wrong, that will sure be nice. But I think I was actually really depending on him saying and admitting it all in court. But when I stood there, and read to him a nine-page letter, to me, that was a big step, because I didn’t think I could ever look at him. I mean, he could control me with his eyes, even in the courtroom, he was controlling me and abusing me.

So I walked out of that courtroom that day just devastated because he not only denied it all, but he tried to call me to repentance, and even call my husband to repentance and all sorts of just using the Bible and God, and I was so devastated. Because I really hadn’t found what true forgiveness was. But the problem is forgiveness in everybody’s minds, or even in my own mind was, OK, that means you have to be in a relationship again with this person, or, you know, forget it all. And that wasn’t happening. So it made me even more angry and devastated. And so it was I think about that time I started writing my book. I just started writing. But I didn’t want to talk about him sexually abusing me. It was just I wanted that to be forgotten in my life. It wasn’t till I had finally reached a point where I wrote this whole book, actually, I realized that I needed to start working through the layers of my heart and see the real truth of what had happened. And so I actually walked into this conference where people work together on hearing each other stories in a safe place, called Hearts Going Towards Wellness. And I heard a topic done on forgiveness. And it was all about forgiveness as a journey in walking and seeing the layers of where the debt is. And that was one thing I thought was kind of wrong to go back, you know, and accuse my father or whatever it was, but realizing that I could only figure out how to forgive by knowing what the debt was to forgive. And so that really began a journey of understanding the difference between what had happened to me and what had happened in my own heart. The healing I got from that was just huge. And to the point where now I walk journeys with others and carefully walk through like, what did you experience and what did you own that wasn’t yours to own. And I was finally able to kneel down on my father’s grave and name the things that he had done and the losses in being his daughter and say the words, “I forgive you Papa,” was powerful, because I truly have. I’ve truly forgiven the past. At the same time, I say every day I have to work on it when it comes up, and I can’t just go get like a GED or something, because I have to work really hard to get my schooling done. And that was stolen from me, or anything in life. That’s reminded me of it. It’s a process.