“Where There’s Breath, There’s Hope”

After 83 arrests and 66 convictions, Tonier ​“Neen” Cain finally found one place with people willing to listen to her, believe in her, and help her deal with her trauma.

Cain, 45, told her story — of how she turned her life around after 19 years of homelessness, drug and alcohol addiction, and traumatic sexual and physical violence — at the Clifford Beers 11th Annual Clinic Builders of Hope Breakfast Thursday at the Omni Hotel.

An audience of just under 300 people listened to her explain how no one ever bothered to ask her what had happened to her and instead, blamed or shunned her whenever she sought help.

Cain told the story to help people at Clifford Beers and others who deal with people in crisis figure out how to avoid repeating the mistakes made by so many of the social workers and cops and clinicians and ​“public pretenders” in Cain’s story. Cain’s story also showed how the right help can turn a life around.

Cain said she hopes that her speeches will raise awareness about the importance of working with victims of trauma and providing them the resources they need so they can overcome the obstacles they face and lead successful lives. Cain’s own story has been turned into an award-winning documentary called Healing Neen.

Housing Authority of New Haven Executive Director Karen DuBois-Walton, who serves as vice-president of the Clifford Beers Board of Directors, cited Cain’s story as a message of hope.

“[Cain’s] is a riveting story. 66 convictions – why all these repeat offenses? Why did it take so long to end the cycle? To have someone finally ask, ​‘What happened to you?’” Dubois-Walton said. ​“If there was ever a woman who could speak to the idea that, as she says, where there’s breath, there’s hope, it’s Tonier Cain.”

Cain’s story starts early: At age 9, she lived with her alcoholic mother and took care of her eight siblings; her mother would often leave for two to three days at a time. Cain learned to change her siblings’ diapers, feed them, and protect them. As a result, she often missed days of school.

When she did go to school, she was teased and bullied by her peers for smelling bad. When you sleep with eight other siblings in the same bed and are never taught how to take proper care of yourself, you’re bound to smell bad, she said. Her teachers never asked her why she was missing so much school or why she was taking such poor care of herself.

Her mother would also often bring different men home; the men would sexually and physically abuse Cain. As a coping mechanism, Cain started drinking early on.

“I was just wandering around in the mornings after each of my mom’s parties, and I would find these half-filled cups sitting around, and I would start to drink them. What I realized was when I drank these half-filled cups, when my mother slapped me down and called me names, it didn’t feel as bad anymore. When the men came at night, it didn’t feel as shameful,” Cain said. ​“It helped me cope with my reality.”

At age 19, she started abusing crack cocaine. It was the ​“answer to all my problems,” she thought. She described her life as a series of encounters with the police, courts, and corrections facilities. She showed the audience a series of mugshots over the years. She described going to trial after trial.

“Public defenders? Where I come from, we call them ​‘public pretenders,’” she said. ​“You don’t see them until the morning of court, and they come to court with all these files. … But they don’t even know what you look like.”

Cain was continuously abused by police officers, one of whom broke her nose and arrested her after she was raped in an empty building. She was hurt further when she tried to seek help. After she completed a court-ordered drug program and achieving sobriety for two weeks, her drug counselor sexually abused her when he was driving her home from the program, she said.

“Graduating the program, I felt proud. I did well, and people kept saying to keep coming back, ​‘Don’t stop before the miracle,’” Cain said. ​“I was able to get a ride there but I couldn’t get a ride home, so my drug counselor offered me a ride home. But he pulled over, raped me, pulled my hair and said, ​‘There’s no sense in telling anyone: you’re just a crackhead,’ and he threw me to the ground.”

During this time, Cain gave birth to four kids, all of whom were taken away from her.

“There are four of my kids walking on this Earth, and if I passed by them on the street, I wouldn’t even know it,” Cain said. ​“How do you heal from that?”

After spending 19 years living under a bridge and finding food on the streets and in trash cans, and after yet another conviction, Cain finally found a treatment program at the Maryland Correctional Institution for Women. The program would turn around her life.

“Somebody greeted me and said, ​‘I’m so glad you’re here,’” Cain said. ​“After 19 years of living on the streets and going in and out of the system, somebody said they were glad to see me and I started to work with a trauma therapist.”

Cain said she had thought the beatings, the assaults, and the trauma were part of ​“average” life. Then her trauma worker helped her realize that her experiences were not her fault. Slowly, she learned to talk about her history, starting from her early childhood experiences.

Cain repeatedly asked the audience at the Omni Thursday: What if someone had asked her what had happened to her early on? What if someone had asked her what was going on in her life and had taken the time to work through her problems?

Now Cain has a daughter and has traveled nationally and internationally to speak about her experiences. As of last month, she has given a talk in all 50 American states. Thursday’s speech also sparked a panel discussion afterwards among Connecticut Juvenile Justice Alliance Executive Director Abby Anderson, Clifford Beers Clinic Executive Director Alice Forrester, EMERGE Connecticut’s Dan Jusino, and Connecticut Board of Pardons and Paroles chair Erika Tindill.