Freedom Page 3
My hair has gone through the ups and downs with me, too. My hair coming out of the backyard was limp and lifeless, kind of like how I felt. Dragged down by the pressure of life and weighted down with so much dirty garbage of Phillip and Nancy’s making. My hair reflected all that I was at the time. Maybe no one noticed, but I did, and it was tough to change and figure out what I wanted my hair to look like. Slowly we went through many changes and styles together, my hair and me. In the backyard, Phillip allowed Nancy to take me out to town, but I always had to color my hair first. I learned not to care what my hair looked like or feel anything for it because it was just a thing that got in the way of my freedom for the day. Later, when I had the choice, I relied on the advice of others because I really didn’t know what to do with it.
The media played a role in my decision as well, and I had one style for the press and one style for home. I tried dark, I tried light, and it made me feel like I was two people in one body at times. The more I changed it, the more I figured out what I liked and what I didn’t. I eventually experimented with adding bangs, which I thought made me look cute but too young, and then I cut it really short for some reason I can’t even remember. I tried highlights and lowlights and finally back to blond and I grew it out long. After all this experimentation with different styles, I like the way it looks now and feel it looks most like how I see myself when I close my eyes and picture myself. That self does not exist, I know, but dreaming you look like a 6'2" supermodel with a mane of long, flowing, golden locks and long, elegant legs, perfect for reaching any shelf in the house and no need to wrap their stirrups when horseback riding, is sometimes what I picture. Hey, a girl can dream.
Clothes have been a similar journey for me. And like my hair, clothes have evolved into what I like to call “My Style.” Gone are the days of the coverup from head to toe and gender-neutral clothes. Cover up everything was my theme for some time, and then jeans and T-shirts came into fashion. As a kid, I wore nothing but stretch pants and had a pair in every color imaginable, with my favorite being pink. My style has really changed this past year. I discovered Nordstrom Rack. I walked into the store one day and said, This is a magical land! Filled full of nice designer brands at half the cost of the expensive ones I will not buy because I like a good bargain just like my mom does. Today I would have to say my favorite kinds of clothes are the comfy kind. I love wearing exercise clothes. They are so comfy and cozy and make me feel like I exercise a lot more than I actually do, so that’s a bonus! These days I do feel more grown-up than I have ever felt in the past. Almost like these last six years have been my “awkward teen” years that I missed out on and now I’m in the more “I’m comfortable, this is me” zone. Maybe I’m just deluding myself about the grown-up part! I tend to wear more girly clothes now. I found that I really like dresses and patterns. My style tends to be flowy with fitted at the top and more flare at the bottom. My body has changed, too, from exercising at least three days a week with weight training mixed in and still hiking with Rebecca and friends any chance I have.
Who’s That Girl on TV?
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I had always dreamed of being a writer. My dream came true. For me, writing A Stolen Life was very cathartic, and I look back on the experience with awe and wonder that I actually did it. I became an author. A Stolen Life was published in 2011. I was asked to do an interview to accompany the release. Nanny Goat gave me several names to choose from for the interview. After meeting Diane Sawyer, I knew she was the one for me. Not only was she kind but she also felt completely normal and not the famous and beautiful Diane Sawyer I knew from the news!
During the interview, Diane was incredibly nice and real with me. I had watched her on TV for years in the backyard and to be face-to-face with her and Chris Cuomo was surreal. I was happy to be interviewed but at the same time quite nervous. It was probably hard to tell, though, because I had had so much practice disguising my anxiety, I don’t think anyone really knew. I had shaky hands and sweaty palms. I guess I really had good reason to be nervous. I was kidnapped at eleven, I had been in some loon and his loony-toon’s wife’s backyard for eighteen years. The only real contact I had was with them and my two daughters. Conversations consisted mostly of lectures about the Bible from Phillip, and now here I was, a real-life book author of my very own book. I think my nerves were totally justified.
I was worried about someone finding out I was nervous. Why did that make me nervous? Maybe because I was afraid they would think I didn’t want to do the interview. Or maybe they would think I couldn’t handle it. I can handle anything. (I lie to myself quite often, I’ve noticed.) The line “Fake it till you make it” was playing over and over in my mind. Not sure where I heard that, but it was one of those phrases that has always stuck with me. Even in the backyard. Fake that smile till you live that smile. That day I definitely didn’t want anyone to know, and so I just did it. I just tried to act like I belonged on that interview set and that it was just an ordinary day for me. La-tee-da. They really did make it as comfortable as possible. Nanny Goat made sure of that. Only a couple of cameras and only essential staff on set. My mom was there and was a calming influence on me as well. Rebecca, my constant supporter and cheer team rolled into one, was also on set. I received the red carpet treatment with hair and makeup done professionally. I had brought my own outfit from home, which I had picked out myself. The day was bright and sunny, and I felt like I was going to throw up.
The day went by very fast and before you knew it, we were done and off to dinner. Diane ordered everything from the menu to try and even all the desserts to share. I have always had a sweet tooth, so that to me was an excellent way to end what turned out to be a fabulous day. And best yet, nobody knew I was nervous. Sometimes looking back, I wonder what if I had let my real feelings through. The interview had been very open and honest. What if I had just told someone “Hey, I’m a bit nervous”? Would that have been so bad? Would the world end if I showed vulnerability? Probably not. Growth comes with time, and slowly I have learned I do not have to always be alert, on guard, and un-sharing of my feelings. Tough to learn, but it comes with rewards. Like better relationships with the ones you love.
Now, years later, when I watch the Diane Sawyer interview I get this strange feeling of being detached from it in a way. Almost like that wasn’t me in the story, yet I know it was. One time Rebecca and I watched it together while preparing for an upcoming presentation, and as I looked up at her at one point, she was crying and I was, too. Even though she knew my whole story and I had lived, it wasn’t until that moment that it just all hit me and apparently her, too. We were both kind of like, Wow, did that happen to you? Yep, every moment of it was me in that interview and I had lived to tell the tale. “How incredible,” we both said aloud. I have always felt so normal and average in every way. Even after the interview, I still felt not like a big celeb but the same shy person I have always been.
In 2011, I formed the JAYC Foundation, which stands for Just Ask Yourself to Care! I wanted to have a lasting legacy and to give back all that I could. But how? I saw the benefits firsthand of the work Rebecca and her team did for us as a whole family, and I wanted that for every family that was going through trauma in their lives. During the creation process, I didn’t want the foundation to be named after me. I feel like a lot of foundations bear the name of someone that had not come back, and I wanted my foundation to be different. I was very much alive. So I decided to use part of my name, JAYC, and I wanted each letter to be part of a greater message. You are probably thinking, Hey, how did you come up with that way cool acronym? Well, I had help. Rebecca, Jane, her cotherapist, and I thought about what the letters of JAYC could stand for. The result is something I think has a clear and positive message: Just Ask Yourself to Care!
Sometimes I travel for the foundation and give presentations about what we do, and we use the interview to introduce me to those who haven’t heard my story. On most of these trips, seeing the interview feels li
ke watching someone else live those moments. But after that happened with Rebecca, something clicked, and I have never been able to watch it without a sense of awe for myself for surviving such a horrible situation. I viewed myself as a person for once. An incredible person that survived against the odds. That feels funny to say about myself, but in that moment I truly gave myself a pat on the back.
After one presentation, an older gentleman came up to me and said, “You could have been a Marine.” I shook his hand and asked why, and he said, “Because Marines persevere against incredible odds and survive no matter what they have to do and, that, young lady, is what you did.” I smiled and thanked him for his kind words. I think we forget how brave we all are sometimes, and it can be hard to pat yourself on the back. Survival is important, but what I think is important is the ability to forgive, love, and help yourself through the tough patches of your life.
Before the interview the media was in a frenzy wanting a piece of me and my kids, too. It felt like I was the person in a line from that Britney Spears song saying “You want a piece of me.” While on a visit at Nanny Goat’s house, I released a video pleading for privacy. My mom released a press release stating the same and that we would release what we wanted in our own time. I stayed inside our house for the first week until the press died down, and at times it felt like being a prisoner in the backyard all over again! The girls continued with their normal routine. They had just started school and were still under the watchful eye of key school administrators helping us out with safety. The media was popping up, but I didn’t want to take that new freedom from them. I felt it was important that I maintain a low profile because I didn’t want to be stopped in the street and asked, “Hey, are you that girl?”
The paparazzi eventually died down, and I felt more at ease coming and going. The neighborhood that we were in at the time was wonderful; even though neighbors didn’t know we were there, they all helped in their own way. The chief of police, who had become a very good friend, said he must have gotten a dozen calls from neighbors complaining about the strange cars and people in the neighborhood, which helped us out a lot. Sometimes you don’t even know you are doing someone a kindness or how much you are impacting someone’s life.
Take me, for instance. I never would have thought I could impact someone’s life, but I received so many positive letters after the interview and release of my book, A Stolen Life. I was taken completely by surprise and humbled. I even received a letter from Alyssa Milano and one of my favorite authors, Danielle Steel! Who would have ever thought little ol’ Jaycee Dugard would have the chance to become a . . . a what? Not a star, but somebody who had written her own book, and that book was something that others were learning valuable lessons from. I never would have imagined that people across the world would benefit from my writings. A book filled with the accounts of my life and the lives of my daughters as prisoners in the backyard and how I tried to make it the best I could so that they could grow up the best that they could in dire circumstances.
“SMILE”
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A grungy-looking man in dirty clothes stands on the side of the road. He’s holding up a bright yellow sign with bold, black letters that read “SMILE.”
A reminder to smile? How odd, I thought to myself. Do I really need a reminder? Do people really need a reminder to smile? I guess I do sometimes. I feel like the queen of smiling most days, and yet I need to be reminded at times, too. That day, seeing that sign being held up made me remember to be present in the moment. In that moment I was free and, best of all, I was driving all by myself!
I was just running errands. Doing something mundane like grocery shopping, dropping off a package at the post office, picking up some milk, or perhaps grabbing a Starbucks iced caramel macchiato. I remember spotting that sign while waiting for a light to turn green. At first I didn’t smile. Actually, his sign made me kind of sad. I thought, Jeez, do we really need someone on the side of the road telling us to smile? Is the world so crazy all joy has left us? Are we all just going about the motions of our day? Are people so numb they can’t even enjoy simple things? I sure hoped not. I know, believe me, sometimes you just don’t feel like smiling. But then in that second I remembered all the reasons I had to smile. One of the best ones was exactly what I was doing in that moment—driving! Driving a car down a street, doing something people do every single day without even thinking about it. Something I never really thought I would be able or even allowed to do.
There are so many reasons I love being able to drive. It would be nearly impossible to list them all. For me, the absolute best part of driving is singing in the car. I hear the first few notes of “Take On Me” by A-ha and before you know it, my mouth is moving to the music. I’m one of those singers that hums a few bars and sings only the parts I know. I know I’m singing off-key with lead singer Morten Harket, but I can hit those high notes just like him! It doesn’t matter what I sound like in the car. Well. I must admit sometimes it does matter what I sound like just a little bit. When it matters is when I try to sing with the girls in the car. It doesn’t go so well because I know I really can’t sing. If I could pick one person to sing like it would be Florence Welch from Florence and the Machine. Her voice sounds so rich and intense and perfect! The other day when I was belting it out, I looked over at my oldest daughter, who was laughing into her jacket. She is one of those people who knows all the lyrics to a song she hears only once! I’d love to be like that, but alas, I am tone deaf. Oh well, at least my dog doesn’t mind. Belt it out I say! He hasn’t howled yet.
I was so nervous to learn how to drive. My hands were sweating and I was giddy like I couldn’t stop grinning. I had to totally defy that part of me that had been conditioned never to touch a steering wheel. I can tell you I dreamed about it a million times.
One of the very first things I learned to do when I was recovered was learn to drive with some gentle prodding from my mom and sister. And, lo and behold, I became a race car driver! Just kidding! Sitting in my mom’s car and listening as the gears and buttons were explained to me, that’s the moment I truly started to feel like an adult. Before then I felt very young and unsure of myself. Even though I was already a mom, I think the events in your life shape you, and although I have had my share of unsavory events, I didn’t have those milestones that happen as you grow up.
Sitting in that car I felt like I was going to get in trouble. Like someone was going to yell and shout, “Get out of the car, idiot! You can’t possibly think you can drive!” But I told myself, Phillip and Nancy no longer had a chokehold on my life. I could do it if I wanted. I wanted to drive! I could and I would.
Off we went for my first driving lesson. I learned on a curvy hill road. It was pretty private, and I didn’t have to pass a lot of cars. Good thing, because I am not sure I even stayed on my side of the road. Not sure what I would have done if someone had come down the hill at the same time I was going up. I learned later that it’s very intimidating passing cars for the first time. It got easier the more practice I got. That first day, I remember thinking, Yikes, I am actually driving my first car! I focused on everything my sister was saying and put that nagging voice out of my head. I have to give my sister credit for not having a panic attack. I am sure I scared her a few times around some curves. She was a very patient teacher. I thought a few times how strange it was that my little sister was teaching me to drive. After all, I hadn’t seen her since she was a small baby. And now here she was teaching her big sister how to drive.
The day I actually took my driver’s test was dreamlike. My mom drove me to the DMV. (Again the nauseating nerves. Would they ever leave me alone?) I couldn’t string together a whole sentence the entire way there. The instructor asked if I was ready, and I must have said yes or maybe I just smiled and nodded. Suddenly I was in the car checking my mirrors and pulling out into the road. He asked me to do my hand signals out the window. I totally botched them, not exactly sure which was which. But I guess I must have
done okay, or maybe he just felt really sorry for me. I pulled back into the DMV parking lot and parked a little crooked and at least a foot from the curb. The instructor said, Congratulations! You passed, Miss Dugard! I jumped out and went to hug my mom with a big grin on my face. My mom was laughing; she had noticed the parking job. Oh, well, I passed! I got my license!
On the car ride home, I was calling and texting everyone I knew. My mother had to drive because I was too excited to do it myself. My aunt Tina was teaching her class but picked up and was super excited for me. My sister sent me happy-face emojis. When I called Rebecca, she picked up in a whisper, which was strange. I told her I passed! I must have really shouted loud because I could hear someone ask her on the other end, Is that your daughter? Rebecca explained to me she was at her uncle Senator Matthias’s funeral reception in Washington and that she was in a little box of a room called the “cell phone room.” There were a few senators having their own conversations. She told me they looked irritated by her interruption and not impressed when she apologized and tried to explain who I was. I guess I had never really thought about that before. How do you explain me to anyone? I mean, even I find my own story hard to believe. Like I have said a million times, who gets taken by a deranged couple and comes back eighteen years later with two beautiful children? Doesn’t sound real even to me.
Driving has taken a little getting used to. At times that insecure voice creeps in, and I battle it back with my mental nunchackus. I have learned a trick that works 80 percent of the time—just do it! Nike was right! All those clichés have proven to be right. “Fake it till you make it.” “One step at a time.” “Get ’er done.” All the jargon words people live by, but guess what? They really work!