“When you judge another, you do not define them, you define yourself.” — Wayne Dyer
I know that by writing this article, I’m probably opening the floodgates to negative comments. I might even lose friends on social media. But for me, this isn’t about popularity — it’s about what I believe and what I think is important.
Recently, I stumbled upon a young, driven public defender on TikTok who reminded me of myself when I was starting out. She’s outspoken, unapologetic, sarcastic, and completely unafraid to make faces or poke fun at those around her. But at the core, she cares deeply about her clients and would do anything for them.
She once made a provocative point: every privileged “baby boy” or “baby girl” headed for a District Attorney’s office should spend 10 days in county jail before starting work. Her reasoning? So they’d understand the system they’re enforcing. I challenged her, because the truth is, those who end up in DA positions often come from privilege — not from the poor families who have faced the system firsthand. More often than not, they’re white. How many African American District Attorneys have you seen? Not many. And doesn’t that say something?
The Most Stigmatized Group in the Criminal Justice System
This brings me to one of the most uncomfortable topics in our justice system: people convicted of sex offenses. They’re a group constantly stigmatized, boxed in, and labeled as irredeemably bad. And the stigma doesn’t just stick to them — it spills over to their families and loved ones who stand by them.
I’ll admit it: when I graduated from law school, I didn’t think much differently than the general public. Law school barely touched on the complexities of these cases — they gave us the bare minimum, and the rest we had to figure out ourselves.
When I was a young attorney, I took on a case involving a sex offense — from the prosecution side. My job was to convict. But the deeper I went into the paperwork, discovery, and testimony, the more I began to question what I was seeing. I looked at the accused — a person about to lose the rest of their life — and I began to see cracks in the narrative.
The Reality No One Wants to Discuss
As I dug deeper into the realities of sex offense laws, I was stunned. The level of punishment, supervision, treatment mandates, and public registry requirements make it nearly impossible for someone to succeed after their sentence. Unless they have loved ones willing to support them, they are often left entirely alone — shunned by society and even disowned by their own families.
We have built a system where this specific group is punished far beyond their sentence, in ways that don’t necessarily make the public safer. And yet, the conversation around this issue remains shallow, driven more by fear and myth than by facts and compassion.
Rethinking How We See People With Sex Offense Convictions
I hope that those who read this will open their hearts and minds — to step back from instant judgment and start truly looking at the people behind certain offenses.
Just because you see “registered sex offender” attached to someone’s name or address does not automatically mean they are dangerous. It doesn’t even guarantee they committed the crime they were accused of.
The Hidden Truth Behind Many Convictions
I believe that nearly 70% of men and women currently in prison for sex offenses took a plea deal. Why? Because they knew going to trial could mean a much harsher sentence. They accepted the deal thinking it would all be over quickly.
What they didn’t realize — and what too many defense attorneys fail to explain — is that this decision would follow them for the rest of their lives. They didn’t know it would mean years of mandated treatment, permanent registration as a sex offender, and restrictions that make ordinary life almost impossible.
This isn’t just a “legal oversight” — it’s life-altering. The truth is painful, and once it’s set in motion, it’s irreversible. Yet too often, it’s not fully explained to the accused before they sign their lives away.
The People Behind the Labels
Some of you reading this may have a registered sex offender living next door. And here’s something that might surprise you — they could be one of the kindest, most generous people you’ll ever meet.
Many of my closest friends are on that registry. I love them. I trust them. I’ve shared meals, laughs, and even Thanksgiving dinners with them. When I’m with them, I don’t see a label. I see the person: someone I enjoy spending time with, someone who makes me laugh, someone with a good heart.
The Problem With Public Perception
Too many people take news headlines at face value, forgetting that the media thrives on drama. Not every accusation is the truth. And yes — police departments and district attorney offices, whether federal or state, often present cases in the most damning way possible.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: prosecutors are supposed to represent “the people,” but they’re also dealing with an accused individual whose life is on the line. The dual role can be contradictory — even hypocritical — in practice.
Before you decide who someone is based solely on a registry or a headline, pause. Ask yourself: Is this story complete? Is it exaggerated? Could there be more to it?
Because behind every label is a person. And sometimes, that person is far better than the public record will ever show.
Rethinking the Stigma Around Sex Offenders and SVP Announcements
Even in my professional life, I hear it: “Oh, he’s a sex offender — be careful.”
Be careful of what? We’re talking about a human being — two legs, two arms, speaks a language I understand.
Frankly, I’d rather be surrounded by a hundred people on the sex offender registry than deal with the chaos at King Soopers on a daily basis or share the road with unlicensed, untagged drivers who aren’t even supposed to be here. That’s my perspective.
The Theater of “SVP” Announcements
Whenever there’s an announcement about an SVP — Sexual Violent Predator — the way it’s presented is deeply disturbing. It’s manipulated by police departments, sheriffs, and political forces. It becomes a kind of public spectacle, a modern-day lynching of a person who can’t defend themselves against a carefully crafted narrative.
Take Denver County, for example. They post these announcements on YouTube, edited like a TV crime show. Meanwhile, if you actually need Denver PD for something urgent — even a murder — you might wait two hours for them to arrive. The contrast is disturbing: they claim these announcements are about public safety, but if that’s the goal, where’s the same urgency for other crimes?
And here’s the kicker: studies show that over 14 years, the recidivism rate for sex offenses is only 7.4%, and even the broader rate remains under 10.4%. That’s low. Extremely low.
Rethinking the Stigma: Understanding Sex Offense Cases Beyond the Headlines
When most people hear the words sex offender, their minds immediately jump to the worst possible image — a child molester, a pedophile, or the stereotypical “creepy man in a white van.” The reality, however, is far more complex, and in many cases, far less sinister than public perception suggests.
One of the most misunderstood scenarios is what’s often referred to as the “Romeo and Juliet” case — situations where, for example, a 16-year-old girl is in a consensual relationship with an 18-year-old young man. They might be madly in love, later get married, and build a life together. But under certain laws, that same young man can be charged and labeled a sex offender, carrying a lifelong stigma for something that, in context, is a far cry from predatory behavior. I personally know someone who went through this, and it has forever changed how I see the system.
The public’s mental picture of a sex offender hasn’t caught up with reality. Yes, predatory crimes exist, but many cases on the registry are far more nuanced. Recently in Colorado, there was a case involving a mentally ill man on the registry who attempted to kidnap a child. While the media headlines were quick to label him as just another dangerous offender, what was overlooked was the systemic failure that put him in that position. This was someone who clearly needed secure, long-term mental health care — not just a label and a release into society without proper treatment.
And yet, every time something like this happens, the outrage is directed entirely at the individual. I’m not excusing harmful actions, but we must also hold the system accountable. The truth is, anyone can end up on the registry. Many cases boil down to one person’s word against another’s. In these situations, due process can be compromised by public pressure, political agendas, or flawed evidence.
That political element is especially troubling. Certain politicians, particularly within the Democratic Party in Colorado, push legislation aimed at increasing victim protections — which sounds good on paper — but in practice, they often sidestep meaningful reform for the accused. In some cases, they even leverage the families of incarcerated individuals for political gain, without actually working to fix the underlying problems.
Perhaps the most glaring example of systemic injustice is Colorado’s indeterminate sentencing for sex offenses: two years to life. Think about that — what kind of sentence is “two to life”? It’s not a sentence; it’s a lifetime of uncertainty. In my view, such sentencing should be reserved only for murder cases. Either a person is serving a fixed term, or they’re serving life — there shouldn’t be this legal limbo where rehabilitation and release are at the mercy of subjective judgment rather than clear standards.
It’s time for a more honest conversation about sex offenses, one that moves beyond fear-driven narratives and looks at the facts, the circumstances, and the failures of the system itself. Until we do, we’ll continue punishing people in ways that are neither just nor effective — and that’s a danger to all of us.
The Absurdity of Public Fear
I once attended one of these SVP community meetings just to hear it for myself. The questions asked by the public were so ignorant I almost choked trying not to laugh — or, honestly, strangle someone with my bare hands.
One person asked, “What should I do if I see this person in the store?”
You know what you should do? Buy them a cookie.
It’s ridiculous.
A friend of mine was released as an SVP in Brighton, Colorado, and the community — which is already dealing with cartel activity, drug dealers, and poverty — fixated on him. Why? Because he had a job, made good money, drove a nice car, and owned a motorcycle. Ironically, many people on the registry are far more productive and successful than those judging them.
The Gray Areas No One Talks About
Here’s the truth: a sex offense charge is a gray area. Any man or woman can be accused of “improper touching,” “improper looking,” or “improper jokes.” It’s often one person’s word against another’s.
And yes, I know what you’re thinking: What about those who sexually assault children?
Here’s the reality: only about 3.2% of those with those crimes ever get out — most serve life sentences.
The far more troubling statistic is that 89% of people convicted of sexual assault against children were someone the child knew well — a parent, grandparent, step-parent. They knew exactly how to groom and manipulate their victims.
Now, ask yourself: how many children never come forward? How many never report? The number is in the hundreds of thousands. Those are the real hidden dangers — and they’re not the ones being paraded around at SVP announcements.
The Gray Area of Online “Sting” Operations
Many of you have heard about law enforcement “sting” operations — where a police officer or FBI agent pretends to be an underage girl online, engaging in conversations with much older individuals who are then targeted as potential offenders.
On paper, this is marketed as a proactive way to catch dangerous people before they harm a real child. But in reality, it has always bothered me — and here’s why.
My First-Hand Experience in a Sting Operation
I was once part of such an operation, and the experience left me deeply uncomfortable. The level of pretending required — the way we had to talk, the way we had to mimic the voice and mannerisms of an underage girl — was disturbing. We were told to use explicit language, request specific kinds of images, and guide conversations in a way designed to lure the suspect toward a meeting.
It turned my stomach. I knew right then: I would never participate in something like that again.
When you spend years doing this kind of work — 10, 12, even 14 years — it raises serious questions. Do you still know who you are? Are you the officer or agent you swore to be, or have you internalized the role of a 13- or 14-year-old girl so deeply that it blurs the line between work and reality?
That’s the heart of the gray area — because now you are mastering the very tactics predators use. And if someone in law enforcement had the wrong intentions, they’d know exactly how to manipulate a real child and get away with it. We’ve all seen the headlines about sheriffs, deputies, and high-ranking officers arrested for sexual assault or possession of child pornography. It’s not a hypothetical — it happens.
The Case That Exposed the System’s Contradictions
A recent case in El Paso County perfectly illustrates the contradictions. A district attorney was caught red-handed committing a sexual offense. By all logic, he should have gone to prison. Instead, he was given probation.
Why? Because prison would have required placing him in protective custody — something costly and logistically difficult for the Department of Corrections. So, they gave him a slap on the wrist: probation, registration, and treatment.
If it were anyone else, they’d be serving real time. But in this case, the system bent over backward to protect one of its own.
Why This Matters
These sting operations are supposed to protect children, but the methods themselves can be psychologically damaging to the officers who run them. They also raise troubling ethical questions about entrapment, role immersion, and the double standards that emerge when the accused is part of the justice system.
When the people enforcing the law are operating in the same mental space as the predators they’re chasing — and when some of them end up on the wrong side of the law themselves — it’s not just a gray area. It’s a flashing red warning sign.
The Sex Offender Registry: Punishment Disguised as Public Safety
A few years ago, a judge had said the registry is another form of punishment. That judge was absolutely right. There is nothing about the sex offender registry that isn’t punitive. It’s not simply about “public safety” — it’s about permanently branding people, plastering their names, photos, and offenses online, and ensuring they never fully move on with their lives.
What the Registry Really Is
On paper, the registry exists so that “the public” — especially victims — can know where someone with a sex offense conviction lives. In practice, it’s also a steady revenue source for law enforcement, since how often someone has to register often comes with fees and administrative costs.
For some victims, knowing where an offender lives is framed as peace of mind. But more often, it fuels anxiety, panic, and fear — not just for the victim, but for the person trying to rebuild their life.
In Colorado, there’s only one legitimate registry source: the Colorado Bureau of Investigation (CBI). That’s it. Everything else — gossip-driven websites, unverified “watchdog” pages — spreads misinformation, fuels harassment, and makes reintegration almost impossible.
Harassment Is a Crime, Too
Most people don’t realize this: direct or indirect harassment of someone on the registry can be a felony offense. The people listed on the registry have already served their time, gone through treatment, and survived the fear and danger of prison. Many have families who depend on them. They’re already living under scrutiny and restrictions that most people couldn’t imagine.
And let’s not forget: in prison, sex offenders are often at the bottom of the inmate hierarchy. People inside with charges like drug possession — even those connected to overdoses and deaths — often see themselves as “less criminal” and target sex offenders for harassment or violence.
The Hypocrisy of Crime Stigma
Families of incarcerated people often tell me, “My loved one committed a lesser crime.” I have to bite back a laugh sometimes. Recidivism rates for drug offenses are around 76%, and those offenders are often required to serve special parole — meaning more costs, more monitoring, and in many cases, multiple returns to prison.
And yet, we’ve created a massive, public-facing registry for sex offenses while treating other crimes — including those that kill — far more lightly.
Why Not a Drug Dealer Registry?
If the registry is truly about “public safety,” why don’t we have one for drug dealers? In a country facing a fentanyl crisis — with people dying every day — shouldn’t the public know if someone convicted of dealing deadly substances lives next to a school or playground?
Federal probation already has a special registry for certain drug offenders, but it’s not public. Why not make it public, just like the sex offender registry? If fairness is the goal, the same logic should apply across all crimes that threaten lives.
The Bigger Picture
The registry was sold to the public as a safety measure. But in reality, it’s a lifetime sentence outside of prison walls. It’s stigma turned into law. And while we justify it for one group of people, we ignore the logic when it comes to other dangerous crimes.
If we’re going to brand people for life in the name of safety, then let’s at least be honest about what we’re doing — and who we’re choosing to target.
The Judgment That Never Ends: How Some “Reentry” Organizations Fail the People They Claim to Serve
I used to believe that once someone left prison, there would be no judgment among them — that after serving their time, no matter the offense, there would be mutual respect. Some people do 15 years, others 20, but the shared experience of incarceration should create a kind of brotherhood.
I also believed that in the outside world, especially within nonprofit organizations that claim to help people reenter society, the same principle would apply: no judgment, just support. Unfortunately, that’s not always the case.
The Reality of Stigma in “Second Chance” Spaces
Let’s start with my least favorite example — Second Chance Center. In my opinion, it’s one of the worst organizations out there when it comes to truly inclusive reentry support.
If you’re a sex offender, don’t even bother going there. They will not help you. It doesn’t matter if you’re Black or white — they refuse to assist anyone with those charges. In fact, they’ll gossip about you, push you out of the building, and do everything possible to make sure you’re not welcome.
I know this because I have a witness who personally experienced this treatment. And this is supposed to be an organization built on second chances and no judgment.
The hypocrisy goes even further. They will gladly help people with drug offenses, even covering for individuals who are clearly breaking the law. I know of a case (name withheld) involving a man in a federal halfway house who was supposedly working to rebuild his life but was actually selling drugs on the street — and Second Chance Center looked the other way.
When “Community” Becomes Selective
Sadly, this isn’t just one organization. Take Denver Dream Center, for example. Many men leaving prison enter relationships with women they meet through these support networks. Instead of educating their partners about the variety of crimes people commit — from murder to fraud to sex offenses — they often stay silent.
I personally challenged one woman affiliated with Denver Dream Center who was constantly posting negative, hateful things about sex offenders. She removed the post when I confronted her, but the fact remains: she herself had been to prison and is a recovering addict. The hypocrisy is staggering.
If you’ve done time, you should understand that people come from different backgrounds, with different charges. The goal should be to support one another, not to perpetuate stigma based on which box the system put you in.
Second Chances Should Mean Second Chances for Everyone
The truth is, the concept of “reentry” loses its meaning when we pick and choose who deserves help. If your organization claims to offer second chances, then it must apply that to everyone who has served their time, not just the people whose charges are socially acceptable.
Anything less isn’t reentry work — it’s selective charity, built on the same judgment and exclusion that keeps people from ever truly reintegrating into society.
Judgment, Victims, and the Politics of Sexual Offense Laws: A Personal Reflection
I could publish this article many times — from different angles, exploring different issues — but this is just the surface of what I’m dealing with: judgment. And I hope people judge me too.
Why? Because I testify to change laws that affect people with sex offenses — including efforts to eliminate indeterminate sentencing. Every time I do, I face pushback.
Victim advocates, with their crocodile tears, hold enormous influence. They receive millions of dollars every year through the Victim Compensation Act and related programs, yet they continue to push narratives that block reform.
Here’s the truth: we all have been victims of something. Maybe you don’t realize it, but you or your neighbor or even your co-worker has experienced pain or trauma. Yet, very few of us cry about it daily or demand state funds because of it.
Questioning the Narrative of Sexual Assault Victims
I question the narrative around some sexual assault victims — not to disrespect true victims but because the system often lets money and status muddy the waters.
Take the case of Dr. Stephen Matthews, a cardiologist was accused of sexual assault by women he met on the dating app Hinge. Despite his conviction and a 158-year sentence, the same women who testified against him reportedly returned to his home afterward. Who wouldn’t want to marry a respected cardiologist? For some, the allure of status and security might cloud judgment.
These women now have the audacity to pursue a Netflix show worth $25 million about their story — a story clearly driven by money, not genuine victimization.
Real Victims Want to Heal, Not Profit
I have met real victims of sexual assault. The ones whose pain is genuine don’t parade their stories for profit or public attention. They want to heal quietly and be left alone on their own terms.
Their suffering deserves respect. Their healing deserves space.
This article isn’t about denying anyone’s pain. It’s about recognizing that the politics around sexual offense laws are complicated, often manipulated by financial interests and public spectacle.
As someone who works to change these laws, I understand judgment comes with the territory. But I urge everyone to look deeper — beyond headlines and tears — to see the complexity beneath.
Final
I will be writing about sex offenders for the rest of my life — and 90% of what I write will be positive. That is my choice. I will work alongside their families, advocate for their rights, and fight to change the laws in Colorado. I am prepared to stand against victim advocates, the public, and even district attorneys, because someone has to speak up.
I have friends serving time for sex offenses they did not commit. They took plea deals because their public defenders failed them. These cases are some of the most complicated in the justice system. Look at what happened with Missy Yvonne Woods, the CBI DNA specialist who testified in countless sex offense cases — only to be caught falsifying evidence. She admitted it was easier to manipulate sex offense cases than murder cases, due to fewer witnesses and simpler evidence.
There are over 10,000 cases involving sex offenses in Colorado alone. How many men and women are behind bars unjustly because of rushed investigations and forced confessions? The Denver Police Department prioritized quick convictions over justice. Now, Woods faces over 100 felony counts and could spend the rest of her life in prison — rightly so, unlike the leniency seen in other high-profile cases. She must pay for what she did to those serving time unjustly.
To my friends on the registry — I love you dearly. I stand with you and your families. Never apologize for who you are. Keep your head high. Remember, those throwing stones at you probably carry even heavier burdens themselves.
And to those who judge, I say: stop. Judgment is a dangerous gray area. None of us are perfect. Your child could be next. One mistake, one bad decision — and your life could change forever. So think before you speak or post your emotional outbursts on social media.
Because the truth is, none of us are above judgment.
Justice Unlocked. 
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