The first thing I noticed going through the gates was how run down it looked. They ushered me inside and I heard nothing but silence in the hallways. There were girls walking around in single file lines from place to place but no one spoke at all. Classrooms were silent. There was no noise at all except maybe the wind or the staff. The staff were all Mexican and did not speak English. The only people there that did were the administrators who were American and turns out they owned the place. I would later learn that all these programs were owned by the same family which operated out of Utah. This was the gate we passed through into the facility and the of my freedom I would see for almost 6 months: I was surrounded by American girls my age and one middle aged looking Mexican woman and I assume told to strip in Spanish. Unfortunately, I didn’t understand Spanish so the lady was becoming more frustrated with me. One of the girls raised her hand and asked something in Spanish to this lady and I guess she got agreement on it because the girl turned to me and told me in English that I needed to strip out of my clothes. I complied and stripped down naked in this room full of girls and this adult stranger. They handed me a sweat shirt and pants that I would have to wear for the rest of my time there. All my belongings and regular clothes were taken away from me for the remainder of my time there. Casa was operating on the bones of an old motel (Ironically, the old motel used to be called Motel California) and every room was jam packed full of dirty mattresses everywhere. They had obviously gone over legal capacity because there were 4-5 dirty mattresses piled on every small 20×20 room’s floor. Some of the mattresses had sheets and some did not. They ended up moving the girls out of the main building to some trailers sitting on the lot. The small trailers would house 40 girls per trailer with the bunks stacked besides each other. Because of the living conditions, almost everyone had lice and scabies and there wasn’t really any treating it. This appears to be a picture of the trailers after WWASP was abandoned. To give you an idea, there’s 40+ beds in this long line and we were all to sleep here with 2 bathroom stalls in the door at the end: There are communal showers beyond that door next to the bathroom stalls. The rules were that we had exactly 7 minutes to shower from the time we walked in dress to the time we walked out and there was no hot water. We often had shampoo or soap – never both at the same time so it made showering pretty quick and gross but most of the time we’re trying to not get completely immersed in the water either because it was freezing cold and the trailers were often freezing so we didn’t want to shiver all night. The entire facility was fenced with 30+ foot walls except the part facing the ocean. There was only a small sliver in a classroom we sat in where we could see the ocean but I dreamed of running out that window and finding a way to scurry down whatever drop there was to get to the ocean and hopefully escape. I’m glad I never tried because what I didn’t see from my point of view was that there was a huge drop which you can see here: One girl eventually did jump off of there but she didn’t escape and instead broke her leg. Unfortunately, it did not change things at Casa or close that school down though the Mexican authorities would later shut it down in 2004 for child torture but it was long after I was gone. This is a more recent photo.  One of the girls from the WWASP group dropped by Casa recently and took photos. Someone obviously touched up the paint on that red fence but beyond that, it looks EXACTLY the same. I was assigned a “buddy” for the first three days who would be exempt from the normal rules of no speaking to explain things to me. My buddy explained that we were not allowed to speak to each other ever. Since none of the staff spoke English, we were never allowed to speak English when we spoke and the only time we could speak was to ask staff a question. The only exception to this rule was when we were in our hourly group a day because one of the American administrators or their wives would be in there with us or this ominous thing that happened once a month called a seminar. There were no therapists. There were no medical staff. We have a “family rep” who would talk to our parents on our behalf. We couldn’t write to friends or whoever we pleased. There was no list of patient rights and responsibilities. It wasn’t a treatment center, it was something called a “behavioral modification center.” We were only allowed to write to our parents and we could not seal the letters – we had to allow our family worker to read them and decide if it would be sent. We could only receive mail from our parents. There would be no communication to the outside world and outside of the one hour of group a day (which was NOT fun – I’ll get to that shortly), there was completely isolation except for the occasional knowing glace at each other or non-verbal communication we could get away with. We could not move or do anything freely. We had to ask to stand up, sit down, use the restroom, etc. Staff were expected to be referred to as “mama” or “papa.”. The facility was coed but we were not allowed

Many of you know me, or at least know of me, but I assume some of you might not, or perhaps you haven’t actually heard my story. I attended an abusive program called Casa by the Sea when I was 15 years old. My crimes were skipping school and shoplifting, my punishment was Isolation, beatings and solitary confinement. When I acted out, I was made to sit cross-legged facing a wall for 14-16 hours a day, sometimes for a week or more, and when I refused I had my shoulder dislocated, and my face smashed into a concrete floor by three grown men. I was underfed, and had food withheld from me as a form of punishment. I lost nearly 50 pounds. I was forced into group showers every day while watched by adult staff. I was strip searched and had my head forcibly shaved. I was given strange medications without being told what they were. I was completely cut off from the outside world, even my family. I was not allowed to speak without express permission for an entire year.  I endured mandatory attendance of brainwashing cult-like seminars, where girls were forced to blame themselves for, and reenact, their own rapes. Where I was forced to dress up in women’s clothes and dance in front of my peers. Where I was forced to act out condemning myself and my peers to death. Where I was forced to participate in the abuse of other children. I was told multiple times every day that this program was saving my life. I know people who were raped, forced to eat their own vomit, made to sleep in dog cages or were forced to literally run themselves to death in wilderness programs. I’ve lost countless peers in the years since to drug overdoses and suicide, as they tried desperately to escape the emotional damage caused by these places. I have personally struggled with trust and abandonment issues, leading to a long string of failed and toxic relationships. Complex post-traumatic stress disorder featuring long-term recurring nightmares that lasted for nearly seven years. Binge eating disorder, causing massive swings in weight gain and loss. Depression and anxiety, particularly passive aggressive personality disorder and one hell of a hero complex. I’ve been speaking out about this for over 10 years, few believe me and even fewer know how to respond, so they just don’t. It’s ignored. At first even my own parents thought I was exaggerating or seeking attention. That I was only saying these things to hurt them. Which is exactly what the program told me would happen. I was told that I was just a “bad kid” and that everyone would see me as a liar and a manipulator.  So, for six years after the program, after having been shut down whenever I tried to talk about it, and told to “move on,” I tried to do just that.  It isn’t easy to admit that I was abused as a child. Especially not as a man in today’s society. I carry with me a great weight of shame and embarrassment and when people tell me that I’m just looking for attention, wallowing or lying, it’s like ripping open these old wounds every single time.  I have nothing to gain personally by talking about this, it doesn’t bring me any satisfaction and it alienates my family. If I don’t speak out as someone who was there and saw it firsthand, then who will? I don’t want anyone’s pity, attention, vote, or money. I just want you to hear me, to believe me and when you’re comfortable, if you are comfortable, I’d like to offer you an ear of validation for your story in return.

When someone leaves an abusive environment, it’s common for those around them to assume their problems will lessen. If you leave an undesirable situation for something better, you should in turn feel better… right? The harsh reality is that trauma can follow you. This doesn’t mean a survivor chooses to allow trauma to linger, but more so that the events they underwent had a direct impact on their developmental arc. Extensive research into the future health consequences of child maltreatment has continuously shown a close association to mental illnesses such as depression, anxiety, personality disorders, and other mental health conditions. The first step in understanding the health consequences of child maltreatment (CM) is recognizing what it encompasses. Emotional neglect, emotional abuse, physical neglect, physical abuse, and sexual abuse are all considered different forms of CM. Often overlooked are non-physical forms of abuse such as what fall under the concept of psychological abuse.  Though not spoken of nearly enough, psychological abuse has been documented as one of the most prevalent forms of child abuse. It has been known to be developmentally damaging, and can bring about negative features such as helplessness, aggression, emotional unresponsiveness and neuroticism (Rizvi and Najam, 2014). Before we go more in depth, let’s take a look at some facts about CM in general. According to the World Health Organization, about 3 in 4 children between the ages of 2-4 regularly suffer through physical and psychological violence. In addition, 1 in 5 women and 1 in 13 men report being sexually abused between the ages of 0-17. The World Health Organization notes that consequences of CM can include impairments mentally and physically as well. Not only that, but they mention that the social and occupational outcomes that stem from CM can even slow a country’s economic and social development. The effects of this type of abuse extend far beyond the perceived average scope that society itself faces the long-term repercussions. With that being said, consider how impactful this type of behavior can be to one person, especially a child whose brain is still developing.   Mental Illness Symptoms and Childhood Adversity Mental illness does not have one extreme. There is no formula to how mental illness manifests itself through a survivor of any form of abuse. The outcomes that come from wrongful childhood treatment are individual and can shift depending on the person. Even two people who experience similar instances of CM can have two entirely different mental health outcomes. Analyzing the relationship between mental health complexities and childhood adversity produces better insight into mental illness and its individuality.    Depression, Anxiety, and Bipolar Disorder Early childhood adversity may make someone more prone to depressive behavior and overall mood disorders. In fact, there has been a definitive link found between CM and major depressive disorder. If you weren’t already aware, the experience of any form of child abuse more than doubles the risk of developing a depressive disorder (Klumparendt and Nelson et al, 2019). A research article published by BMC Psychiatry ran a study aimed to find the relationship between CM and major depressive disorder. 1,027 participants between the ages of 18-65 with no bipolar or psychotic symptoms completed a childhood trauma questionnaire including a self-report questionnaire that analyzed four different mediators used to account for the association between the two. These included emotional regulation, attachment, attribution style, and post-traumatic stress disorder (Klumparendt and Nelson et al, 2019).  The sample results published by BMC Psychiatry provided a plethora of findings. 16.3% of participants met criteria for experiencing a current major depressive episode. A whopping 48.8% of participants were suffering from mild to severe depressive symptoms, and 12.2% scored above the cut-off value for showing potential indicators of post-traumatic stress disorder. After looking at these statistics, it was unsurprising to find that nearly half of the entire sample (48.7%) reported at least one former episode of a depressive disorder (Klumpared and Nelson et al, 2019).  BMC Psychiatry later published a study that was more focused on social anxiety in adulthood from those who have experienced a form of CM. The reason behind the analysis was to see how evident social anxiety was in abuse survivors, and to examine how common other mental disorders were among the sample. 1,091 participants who were all treatment seeking outpatients were assessed with a childhood trauma questionnaire as well as a questionnaire on stressful social experiences. The study found that patients with social anxiety and depression reported significantly more severe cases of emotional abuse in their questionnaires. Second most common was physical abuse followed by sexual abuse, emotional neglect, and lastly victimization from their peers. The effects of CM were proven to extend past social anxiety, and indicated potential in bringing about varying types of anxiety and other depressive disorders overall (Bruhl and Kley et al, 2019).  Yet another mental health outcome that can be seen in suvivors of child abuse is manic depression, also known as bipolar disorder. Although bipolar disorder is a known mental illness that can severely affect one’s mood, many people are not aware of the link between manic depression and childhood adversity. To get a firmer grasp on the significance of these adverse experiences and bipolar disorder it’s essential to understand how it can present itself. The International Journal of Bipolar Disorders published an article in 2020 on a project conducted at the clinic of the Ruhr-University Bochum in Germany. The study lasted 2 years and consisted of 48 men and 86 women with the average age being 24 years old. The study utilized self report scales and assessments such as the Beck Depression Inventory II (BDI) which is a 21 item assessment for the severity of depression, the Hypomania Checklist 32 (HCL) which is intended to serve as a measurement for hypomanic symptoms, a three part questionnaire that had the participants recall memories of CM, the Altman Self-Rating Mania Scale (ASRM) where respondents were asked to complete a five item scale ranging from 0-4, and the Bochumer

I was a rebellious child. My parents decided to send me to the King George School, an “emotional growth boarding school” in Vermont. It was a CEDU school. CEDU was a company founded by members of the cult Synanon, who owned and operated several therapeutic boarding schools and behavior modification programs. Before its bankruptcy, the company’s schools faced numerous allegations of abuse. Here is my story. When I was taken to the school, I was not fully informed what it was. I was told it was an arts school and that I was going to be able to dance. Yes, they had dance classes in the name of “art therapy” but that was not the full picture. When I arrived, they started going through my bags in front of me. I did not understand why I could only choose 5 CDs to keep (so much for an arts therapeutic school promoting music) or why they took away the condoms that, while I was a virgin at the time, my stepmom graciously gifted me so I was prepared when I was ready. I was then strip searched naked and had to jump up and down and cough before being allowed in any other building. The first few days when kids asked me “why are you here?” I answered, “for school…?” I literally had to figure out what this school was all about by putting the pieces together.  I have blocked out many memories from the experience and I wish I could bring them back to fully paint the picture of my life there. Maybe from continuing to do this work, they will come back…for better or for worse. The biggest trauma from the high school was simply having my basic rights taken away, in little ways, daily. Absolutely no physical touch was allowed, so either we were deprived of that need or we would sneak into the cubby room and have a third “watch out” for us. All phone calls to parents were listened to and monitored by staff, so we felt like prisoners who could not speak out against our experience. There were no phone calls allowed to friends. All incoming and outgoing mail was read and any information negative about the school in outgoing mail or “triggering” to us in incoming mail was blacked out. I received pieces of mail from friends where I could only see their intro and sign off. Not that I look down on my friends at all, but it was very traumatic when all of my closest high school friends would casually tell stories about sleeping around for drug money when I hadn’t even drunk alcohol. It was normal to be sitting in class and just seeing someone run down the hall screaming and banging her head against the wall or threatening to self-harm. The students at the school ranged from “my parents don’t know how to parent” to drug addicts to serious mental health disorders. And to be clear, NONE of our staff had therapeutic or social works credentials or even backgrounds. It was just the highest paying job in town. To make this clear, one of our biggest activities was called “raps.” Twice daily we would sit in a circle and talk about what was going on at the school. Mostly it was to call people out for not staying “in code.” In one particular rap, the night before, a bunch of girls were sitting around gossiping and talking about my best friend Zoe (not nice, but as girls do…) Instead of just letting that blow over, in the rap the next day, the counselors decided that the best way to handle this was to have each girl go around the circle and share directly to Zoe what they don’t like about her. Imagine a teenage girl and how traumatic that is.  Academics were a joke. The dance program that I was “there for” was a complete joke. There was a dance teacher that they hired that actively told students that being gay was not okay. Again, teenagers in their formative years and figuring out who they are, being told that they are not okay. I invited her to my presentation for debate class about gay marriage. She was not pleased. They had people going up on pointe before they were strong enough. I saw massive injuries take place in the dance studio. Then, when our dance teachers quit and they did not have anyone to teach the classes, they approached me and asked me to be the dance teacher at my own school. They took me out of art history class, said they would give me a certain grade, and I taught my friends to dance. This was the education that parents were paying money for students to be studying dance. I did not get to explore with rebellion, a development experience for teenagers. I had never been to a house party or a normal prom. After a few months of being at the school, they decided I was still too rebellious and that the reason I was not doing well was because I did not go to a wilderness program before boarding school. They told my parents that the only way they would allow me to stay at the school was if I left, went to a wilderness program, and then came back. But of course, what wilderness program were they pushing on my parents?  Ascent in Northern Idaho, also a CEDU program (owned by the same company as my high school.) You will see in an upcoming documentary, Teens For Profit, how all this money is wrapped up with each other. It’s sick. The worst was when I was sent to the wilderness program. At the program, I was physically and emotionally abused.  We did an exercise where we had to present to our group every bad thing we’d ever done and every major trauma or milestone we went through. I presented and then was asked to step

I’ll cut right to the chase, and save you some time, I’ll tell you my story,  if you don’t mind the rhyme.    It started quite young,  I was three and then four,  I was in bed for a nap,  when he opened the door.    What happened next,  was so very profane, Just a child, just a baby,  it was so inhumane.   I’ll spare you the details,  from this all,  it was sick,  I zoned out,  I played possum,  teleported, quite quick(ly).   Fast forward 10 years, thought I was safe from abuse,  I was barely 15,  now a toy for his use.    He came to my window, all drunk and in “need” , he wanted “to screw”  despite all of my pleas.    I said “No”, “ I don’t want this to be my first time,  you are drunk, I’m not ready,  as he grabbed my behind.    He said “ I am your boyfriend,  you’ll do as I say,” you can cry, you can beg,  I’m not going away.”     He pushed me down hard,  on the edge of my bed,  I said no, I said NO,  he ignored what I said.    “Are you going to force me?”  I begged, gasping for breath,   he pushed me down hard  on the floor, as I wept.    I grabbed at the bed, to stand up, get away, He pushed me back down,  So I started to pray.     One hand held my wrist, as he straddled my waist, He unfastened his pants,  Readied himself, without haste.    I remember,  I stared hard,  at the flower on my bed,  in my mind, traced the emblem,  wishing that I were dead.    He finished, he left me,  the same as he came,  back out of my window like this was some sort of game.    The abuse, it went on, many years I endured,  Went from broken to shattered, my soul stripped down to the core.    Eventually,  I broke from his bond,  not my curse,  there’s no happy ending, the story gets worse.    One night with some friends on our way home from the game,  that Night, took it all, I was never the same.    In the back of the van,  I was held hard to the floor,  “friends” took their turns “taking”,   til my soul was no more….   I said not a word, when Dropped off on my street,  Slowly, I walked up, I just stared at my feet.   Could this be my life? the abuse and the pain,   there must be more than I see,   it can’t all be in vain.    Needless to say,  the spiral began,  the cutting the writing,  the drugs for the pain.    Thank God for my family, my church and  my friends,  I had great support,  so my life didn’t end.    The scars can’t be seen, they’re still hidden inside,  But with love, faith and family, somehow I survived.    Please don’t remain silent if you’re hurt and in pain,  talk it out with SOMEONE, you are NEVER to blame.     What seems hard  is not hopeless,  In the dark, look for light, Stay strong, And stay true,  never give up your fight!!  YOU ARE WORTHY

2020… Where do we even begin? Part of me was dreading this year’s end of the year letter.  With all of the loss, separation, social distancing (do we hate that phrase yet?) and anxiety that we all felt, how do I even try to articulate the kind of year that The Humanity Preservation Foundation – HPF for the cool kids – had? For a lot of us, 2020 was about survival.  Whether it was surviving a conference call with your boss while the kids are having an epic lightsaber battle behind you.  Or going into the office every day because you work in food service and people gotta eat.  Or maybe losing that job and not knowing exactly how the electric bill is going to get paid, we ALL had our battles. What ended up motivating me to write this letter?  Well, it’s the fact that so many individuals embraced those battles and seem to be coming out of COVID a stronger person for it.  Seeing people take the time to grow closer with loved ones (I know I did) search for a deeper meaning and refocus on what is important gives me hope for the future.  There wasn’t a lot of quitting that’s for sure and there was some remarkable progress made as a species. As a nonprofit, I was never afraid that HPF was going to quit this year, but I was worried that we may become one of the 40% of charities that had to close their doors this year because funding was gone.  Instead I was able to witness a very passionate group of volunteers step up and decide that we were going to make “lemons out of lemonade”.  A group that has been making weekly Zoom calls cool before it was cool. There were a lot of Firsty Awards handed out to say the least. First Virtual OTA Happy Hour First Virtual HPF Bingo Event First Lemonade Stand First #AbuseStillSucks Campaign First Virtual 5K First #AbuseStillSucks High School Education Poster Program First Orange Meets Purple Event First #SundayStories Email First #BreakingCodeSilence Special on #HandsOff First Masquerade Ball The list could go on, but what I want to mention is that at this year’s OTA Masquerade Ball, I left all of the attendees and those that tuned into the livestream with a challenge.  I asked that everyone try and make one small step on a daily basis that exemplifies living your life with an Orange Heart.   Living your life with an Orange Heart can mean whatever you want it to mean.  Personally, I try to focus on strengthening the relationships that are important to me and not being so negative.  It’s making that little bit of extra effort that can sometimes go a very long way. Have you been keeping up with your challenge?  If not, how are you going to live with an Orange Heart in 2021?  I would be curious to know, so try messaging us on Social Media or sending us an email or tweeting us or all that other good stuff. I wish you a truly healthy and happy 2021 and can’t thank you enough for choosing to follow along on this wild adventure.  Just remember, there is no light without darkness and I can’t imagine happiness without some sorrow. Thank you from the bottom of my Orange Heart. Charles “Buddy” Custer Executive Director / Co-Founder BCuster@HumanityPreservationFoundation.org

It was very early on when the path of my life was decided and probably earlier then the typical child. At the time, I really had no idea how the paths of life can change and change so quickly.  It was my 4th grade year of elementary school and I was very excited to have the teacher that I was going to have for the year.  My brother that was 3 years older then I had the same teacher for his 4th grade year.  I will call him Mr. A.  That’s right – Mister!  For me it was the first time that I realized that a man could be a teacher.  I had a great relationship with Mr. A and during the course of the year, from time to time; he would allow me to grade some papers or assist him in the classroom with a variety of tasks.  Whenever he wanted a volunteer for something I was sure to raise my hand.  It didn’t take long for me to realize that when I was to become an adult I wanted to be a teacher! For me, it was one of those things that I just knew for certain and it wasn’t long after that I decided I wanted to teach at the elementary level for special education. As sure as I was about what I wanted to do when I grew up is how much I was unaware of how one’s path in life could change and quickly at that. I was a typical kid that was growing up in the 70’s at the Jersey Shore in the typical home life set up of mom, dad, brother and myself.  It was a very small town in which everyone pretty much knew each other and it was customary at the time to never have a locked door on your house. It was a time period where you went outside to play, and you didn’t come back until it was time to eat dinner. Just 3 years after making my decision of wanting to be a teacher my life would change forever.  It was at the age of 12 when I was sexually abused by a trusted neighbor.  The horrific acts that took place would ravage my body and claim my innocence, purity, and the loss of childhood.  What would remain, that I would carry right into my adult life would be a fragile young man.  Even though what you would see was an exterior that portrayed that everything was ok.  That’s because this was a customized abuse. Complete with grooming and a tailored made plan that would make me feel like a willing participant that would only get into trouble if I ever spoke up.   It would last for a period of 5 years when at the age of 17 I put a stop to it by saying I could not do it any longer. It wasn’t until I was 21 that I would tell my girlfriend, (who became my wife), what had happened to me.  I was under the misconception that in doing so, I was healed from this level of abuse, but never really knew that it was abuse or that I had nothing to do with what happened to me.  It was something that I just didn’t want to speak of again and that would only lead to it sitting inside of me.  My defense mechanism was that I would just simply lead the perfect life and a home, career, and two children later, that is exactly what I did.  It was the same thing that I did in high school and it worked then.  All I had to do was excel at everything I did and nobody would ever see a flaw.  The only problem is that life gets complicated, and paths change.  For 24 years I had maneuvered in this manner and the bottom gave out in 2005 and it was then that I decided that I need to seek professional help so that I could move past this and live freely! After 5 years of therapy, and countless number of times I felt like I moved beyond my childhood, it would rear its ugly head again.  After putting my story in a book format, the reality of it all scared me to the point where I couldn’t even recognize who I was and wanted out of my life, marriage, etc. I knew I had to do something and remembered an organization that had group weekends of recovery, Malesurvivor.org.  Everything that I had done up until that moment was in preparation for what was about to happen.  In May of 2010 I attended their Weekend Of Recovery and it turned my life around.  For the first time I was witnessing and hearing all the thoughts that had been in me for nearly 30 years and the amazing power of knowing that you are not alone.  I could see the shattered look in the other men’s eyes, and it was one that I had seen in myself, but also in others that I could not place my finger on.  Regardless, I came out of that weekend for the first time really knowing that what happened to me was not my fault. With that came a drive to want to speak out knowing how many men and women suffer from the ugly and destructive affects child sexual abuse has on the victim and their families and being able to relate to that having gone through my own valiant battle. The opportunity to speak out would come 5 months later and on November 5, 2010, an episode of from the Oprah Winfrey Show aired on national television.  She did a special called “200 Men Sexually Abused” with Tyler Perry and I was one of the men profiled on the show.  It would be the first time that I publicly spoke of my abuse, and would also give details of what happened.  It was the best thing I

The Humanity Preservation Foundation (HPF) continues to operate amid the COVID-19 outbreak. Our ongoing online platform allows us to direct individuals in need of resources and/or provide materials for those having to deal with domestic violence, child abuse, or bullying situations. Now more than ever our efforts rise to an even greater critical need during this time period as it may be more of a challenge to locate available services and resources combined with feelings of isolation. Our annual and largest fundraiser of the year the “Orange Tie Affair” slated to take place on April 3, 2020 has been postponed. We continue to work with our partners and vendors to bring you this event at a later date this year. We recognize the scale of this event and the importance of raising funds so that we can continue to serve the population that we do. We are using this time period to bring you the best experience possible knowing that your attendance makes it all happen and we can’t thank you enough for your support. All existing ticket sales, sponsor packages, and auction item donations remain in place and honored on the re-scheduled date. We look forward to communicating our plans and seeing you there! If there is someone you discover is in need of assistance applicable to our efforts please direct them to www.HPFUS.org

A lot can happen in a year. Even more apparently can happen in a decade. HPF started the year off with a bang. We had the 2nd Annual Orange Tie Affair. We launched a web TV mini-series #HandsOff. We continued to help those needing advocacy support and those who had experienced abuse. And then something odd happened – we kind of hit a plateau. I’ve had countless conversations with other entrepreneurs and successful startups. Most of the books out there will tell you the same as well. Get to the 5 year mark and magical things will happen for your organization. There was a lot of excitement coming into this year and you could feel it at the OTA…and then it just stopped. Rhett and I had a few conversations about this sort of lull. Initially we chalked it up to summer time and post OTA blues, but then it continued on into the 2nd half of the year. Now when you reach a plateau like this, there are two ways to handle it. You can continue on doing the same things that got you here. Or you can take a step back and evaluate what happens “next”. We chose the ladder and it was the best decision we could’ve made. Taking a step back allowed us to look at how we’re structured and what’s going to allow us to continue to grow. And then something magical did happen. On December 1st, the State of New Jersey’s new legislation significantly extended the statute of limitations for sexual abuse claims. What this means is if you have been a victim of child sexual assault/abuse in The State of New Jersey, regardless of when it happened you have the right to investigate if you can file a claim. It was a game changer and it put HPF at the forefront of helping victims navigate what this change means. 2019 was another good year, but the 2010s was an even better decade. HPF is set up for more magic to happen in the roaring 20s and we hope you continue to stay along for the ride. There are some great partnerships in the works that will continue to allow us to support past victims and empower those that are looking to make a change. As google said with its end of year video – the world is looking for heroes and why can’t that be you? Thank you once again from the bottom of our orange hearts and we wish you a healthy, happy and love filled 2020. Charles “Buddy” Custer Executive Director / Co-Founder