The Amy Acton controversy and the survivors who are watching

She was twelve years old.

Twelve. An age when a little girl should be worrying about school, friendships, and growing up, knowing the adults in her life will keep her safe.

Instead, Amy Acton’s childhood was marked by sexual abuse, instability, and the failure of adults who should have protected her.

That little girl grew up to become a physician, Ohio’s director of public health, and now a candidate for governor.

Nearly fifty years later, her childhood has become the subject of a political advertisement. Produced by her opponent Vivek Ramaswamy’s campaign, it features Acton’s estranged biological mother accusing her of lying about her childhood. The campaign has acknowledged producing the advertisement and announced a $4 million effort to promote it.

I have spent much of my professional life listening to survivors of childhood sexual abuse. I know how difficult it can be to speak, how deeply disbelief can wound, and how long healing from betrayal can take.

So I find myself thinking not only about Amy Acton, but about the survivors watching.

What does it say to them when something done to a child becomes a weapon against the woman she becomes?

The Burden of Being Believed

For many survivors, telling someone about sexual abuse is one of the hardest things they will ever do.

Imagine being a child hurt by someone you trusted. You may not have the words to explain what happened. You may fear that no one will believe you or that speaking will tear your family apart.

Children depend on adults for safety and belonging. When that trust is violated, silence can feel safer than speaking.

I have listened to survivors describe carrying those secrets for decades. Many remember not only the abuse, but the painful realization that someone they loved might not believe them.

In Acton’s case, substantial documentation exists. In 1978, her biological father contacted authorities about allegations that her stepfather had sexually abused her. Her stepfather was arrested and indicted on a rape charge involving a child under thirteen. Amy and her brother were removed from their mother’s custody.

Her stepfather pleaded not guilty but failed to appear in court, so the case never went to trial. There was no conviction. That distinction matters, but so do the investigation, indictment, custody proceedings, and the account of her brother, Philip Stearns, who has publicly supported her description of their childhood.

The absence of a conviction does not mean the abuse did not happen.

Sexual abuse often occurs without witnesses, and many survivors never report it. Relatively few reported cases result in convictions.

Yet here is a woman whose childhood account is supported by substantial documentation, still having her credibility publicly challenged decades later.

How much evidence is enough?

When Betrayal Becomes Another Wound

When I learned that Amy Acton’s own mother appeared in the advertisement, I was angry. And honestly, I felt a deep sense of betrayal on behalf of that little girl.

Of all the people in the world, shouldn’t a mother be the person a child can turn to when something terrible happens? The person who believes her, holds her close, and does everything she can to keep her safe?

According to Acton and her brother, their mother stayed married to the man accused of sexually abusing Amy, even after the children were removed from her custody. And now, nearly fifty years later, she is publicly questioning her daughter’s account of what happened.

I keep coming back to the little girl in this story. She needed her mother. She needed someone to stand up for her. And by the accounts of Acton and her brother, she didn’t get the protection she deserved.

In my years of working with survivors, I’ve heard so many stories about what happened after the abuse. The parent who didn’t believe them. The family that wanted to keep everything quiet. The adults who knew something was wrong but did nothing.

Sometimes those failures leave wounds that survivors carry for the rest of their lives.

I’ve sat with adults who still wonder why they weren’t worth protecting. Who somehow came to believe that they were responsible for what happened or for the family falling apart.

And part of our work together is helping them understand that they were children. They weren’t responsible for the abuse, and they weren’t responsible for the choices the adults around them made.

I don’t know what Amy Acton feels about any of this today. That’s her story to tell, not mine.

But I do know this: a child should never have to earn her mother’s protection. And she shouldn’t have to spend her adult life defending the truth of what happened to her.

Sometimes the deepest hurt isn’t only what someone did to you. It’s knowing that someone who should have protected you didn’t.

The Survivors Who Are Watching

Survivors notice how other survivors are treated. They see who is believed, who is questioned, and when families or institutions seem more concerned with protecting reputations than caring for those who have been harmed.

In trauma work, we call this institutional betrayal, the additional harm that can occur when those expected to provide safety fail to do so. Research suggests that witnessing such responses can influence whether survivors feel safe disclosing their own experiences.

I think about the woman who has never told anyone about the sexual abuse she experienced as a child. She has spent years building a life, raising children, and quietly carrying something painful. Perhaps she has finally found the courage to make an appointment with a therapist.

Then she sees this advertisement. She watches a physician and public health leader have her childhood experiences challenged by her own mother, despite substantial supporting documentation.

If Amy Acton can have her story questioned after all these years, what would happen to me?

Survivors respond differently. Some may feel anger or renewed determination to speak. But for others already struggling with shame and fear, watching another survivor’s experiences become the subject of public attack may make silence seem safer.

The consequences of how we treat one survivor may reach people whose stories we will never hear.

Healing Is Not Something Survivors Must Prove

There is something remarkable about the life Acton has built. But her accomplishments are not what make her worthy of dignity or compassion.

I have worked with survivors who have built successful careers and fulfilling lives, and others who continue to struggle with relationships, anxiety, shame, or simply getting through the day. Many experience both. Their stories matter equally.

Healing is rarely a straight line. Sometimes it means learning to trust again, setting boundaries, asking for help, or letting go of shame that never belonged to you.

No survivor should have to become an extraordinary example of resilience to deserve compassion, or repeatedly reopen the most painful chapters of their life to defend their character.

Our Moral Responsibility

People seeking public office should face difficult questions about their decisions, qualifications, and records. That is part of democracy.

But what does something terrible that happened to a twelve-year-old girl have to do with whether the woman she became is qualified to serve?

Questions of honesty matter, but they should be grounded in evidence, not the exploitation of childhood suffering.

And this problem extends beyond politics.

I have seen how families, churches, and institutions can become more concerned with protecting reputations or relationships than caring for someone who has been harmed. Sometimes through denial, sometimes through silence, and sometimes through the hope that everyone will simply move on.

For those of us who follow Jesus, this should trouble us deeply. We are called to care for the vulnerable, seek justice, and speak truth, even when doing so is uncomfortable.

Those commitments cannot change depending on whose political party we support.

The biblical call to justice is not suspended during election season.

Our faith is revealed not only in what we say we believe, but in how we treat people when protecting them or standing beside them becomes inconvenient.

The Message We Choose to Send

Acton’s policies and leadership deserve thoughtful scrutiny. But what happened to her as a child should not become a weapon against the woman she is today.

This story reaches far beyond one election.

Somewhere, someone is watching. A woman carrying a painful secret. A man who still struggles to speak about his childhood. A child deciding whether it is safe to tell a trusted adult.

We may never hear their stories. But how we respond to survivors helps shape whether others believe they will be treated with care or suspicion.

We cannot promise that disclosure will be easy or that every institution will respond appropriately. But we can listen with compassion, take disclosures seriously, examine evidence fairly, and refuse to shame people for the harm they experienced.

She was twelve years old.

Before she was a physician, a public health leader, or a candidate for governor, she was a little girl who deserved to be safe.

Whatever our political differences, surely we can agree that she deserved that.

And so does every survivor who is watching.