Shelly Merideth-Adams

None of you know my story. I've never felt it important to share. But I will now. I was molested by family. It started around 10. And it wasn't just one family member. My mom died when I was 14. My mom was my world. My father was in the navy and obviously hardly ever around as he was often out to sea. I am the oldest of 4 (blood). After mom died, I simply lost my mind. I attempted suicide. I was drinking heavily and doing drugs. I was so out of it one night I was nearly raped. Thankfully I wasn't, as a dear soul stepped in. My father stuck me in a mental ward. It also served as a drug rehab as I was an addict. Upon release my father felt the 4 of us would be better off living with an aunt and uncle. I was 15. We had met these people once. She was my moms sister. They were very active in their IFB church. Now understand this please, I was raised in church. My mom was a Christian. She was very active in church. We all went to the private Christian school there. Mom sang in the choir, and was a class mom at school. We were baptist. But, my mom was sane. She never took discipline out of hand.

Back to the IFB. The first year there, other parents looked down on me. I wasn't good enough for their child to befriend. It was a lonely life. I did make a few good, life long friends. The rest simply never understood. Yes I still smoked, but I no longer drank or did drugs or fooled around with boys. I was not in "the world" anymore. I hung out with kids from the school and church, but of course they weren't good enough either. They were the result of single parent homes. Or parents who wanted the best education money could buy, but didn't agree with the religious politics being taught there. Or they were children there on scholarships. Money and power does strange things to people. Anyway, my friends, they were the rebels. I tried to make it in this new life, this new culture. But I wasn't a mindless robot, so I too was deemed a rebel. I spoke up against the wrongs I saw and that simply wasn't allowed. I was given two options as the school year came to a close. Go to Hephzibah House or be expelled. Not wanting to ruin my school record and assuming HH was safe, I agreed. I was not given the forced pelvic exam at HH as my aunt had one done by a doctor right before. I thank her for that...but only that. Upon entering HH, Heather took me into the bathroom where I was told to strip and shower. I did, out of fear. My clothes were taken from me. My dignity was stripped of me. Then I was led downstairs...

I don't remember all the details of my two years at HH. However I do remember I was given the beatings the other girls discuss. Again, I WAS SPANKED BEFORE HH. There is a difference. I was told to lay on the floor while chairs were placed over me. Staff sat in those chairs. Ron Williams, a man of 6 plus feet and over 250 pounds lit into my 5'4", 135lb frame. I was sore for days after. I don't know exactly how many times he hit me with that wood board each time I was beat. I remember being "spanked" at least on two separate occasions. I can remember being mortified that this room full of strangers was lifting my skirt and inflicting this terrible pain on me.

I remember always feeling like nothing I did would be good enough. I was so desperate to please the staff and the Williams family. I longed to feel like I mattered. I cried myself to sleep almost every night for the two years I was there. I remember being told when I could use the bathroom. I can remember when my dusting chore failed the white glove test, wondering what my punishment would be. Would it be a beating, sentences or a skipped meal? I can remember only being allowed to talk to a few girls upon arrival. I can remember being told I had to mark my bodily secretions on a chart for everyone to see. I remember being lined up and checked for body odor to see if I was wearing deodorant. I can remember having broth for meals and taking pills that we were told were vitamins. I can remember daily seeing girls come through the door, their faces red and their breathing short because of the beating they had just received. I remember being told I was not allowed to wear panties to bed if I slept on the bottom bunk. I can remember being told I had to eat the slimy eggplant on my plate and gagging at every bite. I can remember lugging 5 gallon buckets full of rice and beans and other heavy foods up a flight of stairs into storage. I remember being scared daily.

I can remember being told I would never be good enough for a Williams boy, not to even look at them. I remember never having my period at HH. I can remember only being able to take a 3 minute shower and no shower on Sunday. I can remember being called a harlot because men found me attractive. I remember missing my siblings so much and only seeing them once during my two years at HH. I can remember being worked so hard physically, that I hurt to move. I can remember being so lonely yet surrounded by people all the time. I remember letters from my family where whole sections would be marked out because someone at HH felt it was inappropriate. I can remember being told how to wear my hair. I remember wanting so badly to please them I let a staff lady experiment on my hair. I remember feeling sick to my stomach every time my name was called. I can remember the first time I refused to eat what was on my plate. I got it back for my next two meals, and only it. I ate it out of sheer hunger. I can remember being told I was no good. I can remember feeling like I was nothing, a no one...

I spent two years at HH. They broke me. I was given broth when my chores were not good enough. I wrote sentences because my schooling wasn't good enough. I was beaten because I wasn't good enough. I learned to comply. I was broken. I lost who I was at HH. I lost the individual that Christ created while I was at HH. I was no longer His creation. I was the creation of HH. Upon arriving home I was so brainwashed I'm shocked my few friends still talked to me. I was a mess. I put on a good show, but inside I was hurt and confused; scared and alone. HH marred me so much I always doubted my salvation. I never believed I was good enough for Jesus to die for me. I was broken.

I realize that there are 2 or 3 girls who praise HH. I realize in their eyes HH was a haven, not a house of horror. I realize they came out of insanely abusive homes and feel they were nothing but loved at HH. I realize they see no evil done in God's name at HH. I realize they think I'm a liar. I realize they think I seek some kind of attention. I realize they call me names and say hurtful, spiteful things about me.

But know this, hear me and hear me clearly.

I WAS ABUSED AT HEPHZIBAH HOUSE. I was there from 89-91. I was starved. I was beaten. I was humiliated. I was broken. I have over 100 sisters who KNOW I speak the truth. I have over 100 sisters who WERE THERE TOO. I have over 100 sisters who have cried with me. I have over 100 sisters who suffered the same and actually MORE! Please listen carefully with not just your ears but with your heart, with your mind. Please know that just because one or two girls say they were never abused does NOT mean the over 100 who say they were are lying.

Why was I sent to HH? Because I was in pain. I was hurting. I had been abused and my mom had died. I wasn't out of control as we have been portrayed. I was hurting, I was in pain.

Slowly, I have recently started to heal. It has been an insane process. I still doubt so much. I still have no self worth. I still see myself as nothing. I try to remind myself that I am wonderfully made. But I'm broken. WE ARE ALL HURTING. Some like myself, simply have a strong face on. They, like myself simply don't want anyone to know...

Shelly Merideth-Adams

I'm not alone in my account of the horrors at HH. And I'm not telling you my story as an act of revenge. I share because girls are still being abused, not only at HH but in homes everywhere. Please do diligent research before supporting this place. And dear God, please don't send anyone else there...