Stacey Lannert
Benefitting Champ Assistance Dogs, St. Louis Food Bank, and Center for Women in Transition
On July 4th, 1990, 18-year-old Stacey Lannert shot and killed her father, who had been sexually abusing her since she was eight. She was found guilty of first-degree murder and sentence to life without parole: Missouri state law, a disbelieving prosecutor and Stacey's own vulnerable state-of-mind all conspired against her. This harrowing real-life story of survival takes many twists and turns and is as dramatic as any movie. It is devastating, important subject matter and exquisitely told by a brave woman committed to justice for herself and all of man-kind.
Wise Words
“As sexual abuse survivors, a lot of times, we tone down the words. We make them digestible for other people to be able to hear. And when we make them digestible for other people, they lose the power that’s behind it. It loses what the true definition, the true meaning of what it is that we went through.”
“I opened up the front door. I flipped on the porch light. And I went to get the phone to call 911. We didn’t have cell phones back then, we just had landlines. And earlier when my father and I had that huge argument, he had ripped all the phones out of the wall and I didn’t have a phone. And as I was searching the house frantically for one, he just started cussing and getting angry. And he said, “Just, you wait.” And I thought, “Oh my God, if he ever finds out, we’re done, we’re done.” And I didn’t care so much about myself at this moment, but I cared about my sister and I wanted her to have a life, a life free of all the pain. And I wound up, I shot him a second time, and then he died.”
“I wish I had had the courage to tell someone before this nightmare happened.”
“I always tell people, number one, we have to erase the shame that surrounds sexual abuse because placing blame on the victim just makes it worse. I made choices I did because I hoped it would get better because I hoped that my dad would change because I hope that he would turn back into my dad, the person who loved me. And I think that all the children always want their parents to love them, and to be the best parent they can be. So having to defend those choices, it was extremely difficult.”
“I thought prison would be the rest of my life. And I guess that realization hadn’t quite sunk in when my public defender came to me.”
“And I remember asking her, why would you want to do this for me? You know everything I’ve done. And she looked at me and she said, “because I don’t think you should spend the rest of your life here.” And that was just...I mean, it still makes me cry to this day because there was someone, there was someone who cared. There was someone who cared about what happened to me, someone who didn’t have to, but did anyway. And her caring led me to start believing in myself and wanting more for myself.”
“And I remember towards the end, it wasn’t about me seeking clemency anymore. It was about me giving a voice to all the people who wrote me letters, who said, “I believe you.” This happened to me. I could have been you.” And I didn’t want anybody to make the same mistakes I had made. I wanted people to be stronger and I wanted people to make different choices. And I really felt like I was helping other people to find their voice.”
“It’s very difficult to have hope when you’re in a place where hate laughs and love cries.”
“And I really hung onto this poem that a friend had sent me. And in it, it had this line, and it said, “May you never hurt your whole self when parts of you are hurting.” And every time that despair would overtake me, I would just say that little verse. And it somehow got me through.”
“I think that anger is a chain that drags you down. And when we’re able to cut that chain, it frees us, it frees our spirit, it frees our heart.”
“I think I’m always going to feel shame. I feel shame for what I did. I wish that I could change it. I know I’m never going to be able to. And I still feel shame for what happened to me. Not because I allowed it to happen, I’ve been able to change over that pattern of thinking, but it did happen. However, I think there’s a way to not become bogged down by the shame. I don’t allow it to control me anymore. I acknowledge it for what it is. I accept it as part of my life, and I move forward. Part of the reason that I’m able to do that is because I don’t live in secrecy about it anymore. And I think that when other people know what you have lived through, what you have survived. And love you, not in spite of it, just love you. And they embrace the whole of you, then it helps you to embrace that whole of yourself.”
“I wanted to give hope to others who found themselves in darkness. And I want them to know that there’s someone out there fighting for them in the criminal justice system. And we’re not always going to win. We just aren’t. But we were out there zealously advocating for another person. And that’s what makes our criminal justice system one of the greatest systems in the world. It might take a long time for the wheels of justice to move, but they do move and hopefully, now I’m one out there helping them move along.”
“I think healing is always going to be a lifelong process. So many times people who have survived sexual abuse are called survivors. And I really like to think of it more as a victor. Like I’m a Victor. I have overcome what has happened to me. I’m always going to have memories. I’m always going to have flashbacks. Intimacy is going to be difficult. That’s a part of who I am. But I think that we have to find healing rituals that work for each and every one of us.”
Links
Stacey’s book: Redemption: A Story of Sisterhood, Survival, and Finding Freedom Behind Bars
Stacey’s website: healingsisters.org
Stacey’s charities: Champ Assistance Dogs, St. Louis Food Bank, and Center for Women in Transition