Working toward redemption | Heather Lavelle | TEDxMuncyStatePrison

College-educated Heather Lavelle was a successful professional until alcohol and drug addiction led her to commit a violent crime that resulted in a life prison sentence. Lavelle details her painful and difficult journey toward redemption and offers encouragement to others.

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at http://ted.com/tedx

John Wetzel: Hope is such
an important commodity in here,

but I think there's another
commodity in here

that we as a society -

and maybe we as a department
and maybe we as all of us people -

don't do real well,

and that's the notion of forgiveness.

I think somebody earlier talked about
judging somebody from their worst day.

And we're really good
at that front end of the piece,

but that back end of the piece -

forgiveness -

we're not so good at.

So to talk about that, it's my honor
to introduce Heather Lavelle.

(Applause) (Cheers)

Heather Lavelle: Nine years ago,

as a result of depression,
alcoholism, and drug addiction,

I killed a good friend of mine.

This isn't somebody whose name
I didn't know before that night.

This was somebody
I knew well, who I loved.

I knew his hopes
and his dreams for the future.

I knew he loved me.

That's why this is so difficult.

How do you come back from this
after committing such a horrible crime?

This is a story about the serendipity
of events that led me on a journey

of self-discovery
and, ultimately, self-forgiveness.

At one point in my life,
I was successful in business.

I had graduated from college.

I came from a loving family,
had supportive friends.

It all looked good from the outside,
but there were chinks in the armor.

And when things started
going wrong in my life,

I started to sink into a depression.

I hid it from everybody
and started drinking heavily,

which made me more depressed.

I felt like I was living a double-life.

There was the me that my family saw,
who didn't drink in front of them

and was successful, happy,
kept up a good appearance.

Then there was the me who was
full of anger and bitterness

and drank until I passed out every night.

My increasing level of depravity
was fueled by drugs and alcohol.

I started letting the important
things in my life slip,

and I couldn't hold it together anymore.

Those two worlds
started crashing together,

and there was nothing
I could do to stop it.

I started using cocaine,
then smoking crack.

Once I was smoking crack,
nothing else mattered.

My world became very small, dark.

My life no longer mattered to me,
and neither did anybody else's.

All I'd ever known was using drugs
and alcohol as a protective barrier

to insulate me from my emotions
and shut down my feelings.

After my arrest, that protection was gone,

and I was left to face
the reality of what I'd done.

I hated myself.

Coming back seemed impossible
after becoming so evil.

I felt dead inside, like my soul was gone.

Once you're dead, where does
the spark of life come from?

At this, the lowest point in my life,

God made his presence known
to me in a powerful way.

Without his intervention,

I may not have ever been able to move on
from that bleak point in my life.

I learned that the district attorney

was going to seek
the death penalty in my case.

That sparked something inside of me.

For the first time in many years,
I wanted to live.

It was really just an angry reaction.

How dare you think you can tell me
when I'm going to die?

Whatever the reason,
my life started to matter to me.

Not knowing if anyone would ever
want to speak to me again,

I gathered the courage to call my mother.

Before I could say anything,

Mom said,

"Heather, you're
my daughter and I love you.

I don't know what happened,

but you're my daughter
and I will always love you."

I'll never forget that conversation
for as long as I live.

It did something to me;
it opened my heart.

When I called my father, he said,

"All you can do now is redeem your life."

Those words stuck with me.

This idea that my family had forgiven me
and that God had forgiven me

began to allow me to move on.

It blew my mind that people
were willing to forgive me

for something
that I considered unforgivable.

I started to believe that maybe
there was hope for me.

Over the next few years,
people were placed in my life

for reasons that I couldn't
understand at the time.

A lot of friends helped me along
the way: some new, some old.

New friends like Ginger would listen
to me cry in those early days

when I couldn't imagine
telling anyone what I'd done.

Ginger was such a beautiful woman,

and I can remember telling her
that she was so good

and I didn't want to contaminate her
with the ugliness that was inside of me,

like a black ooze coating my insides.

Then there were old friends like Myrna,
who I'd known from A.A. many years ago.

Myrna heard about my arrest
and she contacted me.

And before she passed away,
she worked the steps with me.

And she made sure
that I was going to be okay,

by connecting me
with other members of A.A.

My friends were helping me
to come to terms with who I was,

my addiction, my childhood,
all the other issues in my life.

But I was allowing a wall of denial
to build up around my crime

and why I was in prison.

It was easy to allow people to think
it was all my co-defendants' fault.

I didn't correct people when they
made that assumption.

It wasn't until I participated
in a violence prevention group,

that that wall of denial
started to crumble.

That group made me confront
the reality of who I am and what I'd done.

I would say, "I'm not a violent person."

And they would say,
"But you committed a violent crime."

I began meeting with
a psychologist, regularly.

At first, I couldn't even
say my victim's name,

but I knew I had to face what I'd done.

It was time to come to terms with my past.

Somewhere along the way,
I made the decision

to do the hard work necessary
to come to terms with my past

even though it was one of the most
difficult things I'd ever done.

I stopped brushing aside
the psychologist's suggestions,

and I began actually doing the work.

I did the work of facing
my guilt and shame.

I talked about how I got
to that point in my life.

I talked about how I could assure myself

that I would never
arrive at that point again.

I journaled about my feelings
and things I wanted to say to my victim.

I talked about the events of that night

and of the preceding days
in excruciating detail.

I had to experience that night
from my victim's perspective.

It was gut-wrenching work,
but necessary for my survival.

The pain and anguish were killing me.

I had to come to a place of acceptance.

I could no longer pretend

that the part of me that committed
this horrible, violent act

didn't exist.

After years of not feeling worthy
to address my victim's family,

I wrote them a letter.

Mailing that letter
freed something in me.

It allowed me to start sharing
about my experience.

When women come to me
with their guilt, shame, and remorse,

I can tell them about how much
writing that letter helped me

and encourage them to start
doing the work necessary

to put themselves in a position
to write a similar letter.

I would never have been able to write
such an honest, introspective letter,

had I not done all the work
that led up to it.

I met a man who had forgiven
his son's killer.

I was amazed that anyone could have
such a capacity for forgiveness.

Meeting him has allowed me

to express my thoughts
and my feelings about my crime.

He symbolizes my victim's family,
who I may never get the chance to meet.

I've been able to talk
about what I did, why I did it,

how it made me feel then,
and how it makes me feel now.

He told me that it's okay
to ask for forgiveness.

He also told me that I live my life
as if I've forgiven myself.

He's right.

I no longer hold back
out of guilt and shame.

I care about the people in my life.

My physical, mental, and spiritual
health are valuable to me.

Life is precious.

I'm engaged in life, and I live
with intention and deliberateness.

I have hope for the future.

I'm not the same person I used to be.

Forgiving myself
doesn't mean that I forget.

I could never forget.

What I did is a part of me,
but I can move on.

I don't have to remain stuck
for the rest of my life.

I believe that something
more than luck or fate

has placed all these people in my life.

They're all woven into my journey
of self-discovery and forgiveness.

Each of them, placed in my life
at the exact time I needed them,

has offered support, guidance,
compassion, strength, wisdom,

and forgiveness in their own way.

All of them are like threads
woven into the tapestry of my life.

Each thread woven at the right time
and in the right place

to form a unique and beautiful design.

You can come back from such
an unimaginable low point.

I'm living proof.

Ladies and gentlemen,
don't ever give up on yourself,

no matter how broken you are.

Create your own path
of healing and redemption.

May God bless you.

I am Heather Lavelle.

(Applause) (Cheers)