Astro Medical Advocates

I am a survivor of child sex trafficking. It’s been over two decades and sometimes I still have a hard time saying those actual words in a sentence. I talk about what happened to me, a lot, in my poetry or in the form of a little jokey joke. But putting all of the words together, in a way that tells the full story…still feels incredibly yucky.

My therapist asked me once, what my thoughts were on the Sound of Freedom movie. As an actual survivor of trafficking, I have a lot of thoughts on that movie. Initially, I wasn’t going to say anything on the matter, because I haven’t, and nor will I ever, see the movie; and I believe making content to criticize something, just creates free publicity for the very thing being criticized. However, talking to my therapist about my thoughts regarding this movie, I realized, I think it’s important for survivors to tell their stories and to raise awareness for what trafficking ACTUALLY looks like. So, while I think the entire concept of the movie is a joke (turning some of the most horrific subject matter into entertainment is gross) and I don’t believe, for one second, that Tim Ballard/Operation Underground Railroad aren’t in the pockets of the very people involved in child trafficking (which is really a whole other post, in and of itself), this post isn’t about that movie or the people involved.

This post is about me and my lived experience of being trafficked for sex as a very young child. It’s about things that actually happened to me, as a trafficked child. It’s about the brainwashing and manipulation and, essentially, Stockholm syndrome that forms in the developing brain of a young child. It’s about how you can help by becoming trauma-informed and being aware.

This post will make you uncomfy. And it should. It’s a very uncomfy topic. This is your trigger warning.

It started when I was still in diapers. Before I could even form full sentences. My biological mother (we’re gonna call her BM) and my biological father divorced before I was a year old and by the time I was about 18 months old, BM got re-married to my abusive step-dad (we’re gonna call him SD).

According to what I’ve been told (because obviously I was too young to remember), I had severe diaper rashes that would never go away, throughout my all of my diapering years. I was a very clingy and scared baby/young child. When dropped off at daycares, I would sit in the spot BM would leave me in and I wouldn’t move till she came back, because that’s where I was told to sit and I was a “good girl who followed directions.” My earliest memories are of being SD’s special little girl. I don’t remember a time in my life where I didn’t know how to perform oral sex. It was so normal to me, just as normal as brushing my teeth. It was our secret, special game that “made daddy happy.” I learned how to “make daddy happy” before I learned how to even write my own name.

I can’t say exactly when the trafficking started because the memories sometimes get mixed up. But I remember being a toddler, sold to SD’s friends in public bathrooms. SD would take me to the bathroom and leave me in a stall, then the buyer would come in, get what he paid for, leave, and SD would come back to get me. He’d help me wash my hands and we’d walk out happily. From the outside looking in, he was just being a good dad and taking his kid to the bathroom. Over the years, I would be sold in public bathrooms at various stores, gas stations, fast food places, restaurants, Disneyland (specifically, the bathroom near the teacups), etc. Sometimes, we didn’t even have to “go” anywhere, he’d just drive around while I “played with” his “friends” in the back of our family van.

I always believed that BM couldn’t possibly have known what was happening, because if she did, I was sure she would’ve done things to help me. But as I’ve worked through some of my traumas, I’ve connected the dots and realized she knew all along. And she wasn’t just complicit, she was an active participant. Often, as a young child, I would tell her that “my peepee hurt” and her response to me would be to yell at me about how I wasn’t wiping/cleaning myself well enough (mind you, I was maybe 4 years old). Because I wasn’t cleaning well enough, she would scrub my vagina excessively hard, in the bathtub, and insert her fingers inside of my body to “clean me”. It wasn’t actually until I had female children of my own, that I realized it was absolutely not okay to clean your children that way. This “bathtime assistance” from BM would be an off and on thing, until I was about 8 or 9 years old. BM also would force me to the bathroom floor, periodically, to put diaper rash cream on me, a fully potty trained elementary aged kid.

BM had an unnatural obsession with my body and my appearance, that I could never understand. Until now. Now that I’m older have a bit more perspective, I believe her obsession was to try to “make me more attractive” to SD’s potential buyers.

BM was a single teenage mom when she married SD. She married him when she was 20 years old and he was 12 years older than her; so I do recognize that there was likely a bit of control and abuse happening between SD and BM, but that doesn’t excuse BM for not protecting me. Through the course of my childhood, she achieved a lot – in the way of degrees and certifications. My entire life she would talk about how she “sacrificed so much” to get where she is while raising kids. But the reality is, what she sacrificed…was me.

SD and his “buddies” would host these “playdates”, where they’d bring a bunch of kids and trade us around. These men terrorized and terrified us, to keep us controlled. I believed that I would be killed if I didn’t do exactly as I was told. I was trained to be convenient. I was trained to be quiet. I was trained. Like a dog. Literally, like a dog. Often, at the “playdates”, SD & Co. would put us in dog cages if we didn’t obey. They forced us to compete in “games” to see who could make them orgasm first – they called that game popsicle. Sometimes they would put things like hot sauce or honey in our mouths to see if we were “still as good”. They sodomized and raped us with Barbie dolls and various other household items and children’s toys. They took pictures and videos of us. Sometimes they would force us to do things to each other. I watched them kill animals right in front of me as the blood splattered on my skin. Many of these men were doctors, lawyers, police, service members, etc. These men were in positions of power and they were always sure to remind us that they would silence us, if we ever spoke. They forced us, on multiple occasions, to watch videos and look at pictures of things they did to women and children in war zones. Reminding us that they could do those same things to us if we didn’t do what we were told.

But then we’d leave. We’d stop and get ice cream and then we would go home, like nothing ever happened. Like we just had a fun little daddy-daughter outing. Because that’s what I thought it was. Daddy-daughter secrets. It felt normal, because it was my normal.

I was taught blind obedience. I was taught how to be. But of course, I was still a kid. I was an ideal kid. Until I wasn’t. It was a pattern. I got in trouble at school for things like stealing from other kids’ lunch boxes and talking too much or making up stories. But any time someone started asking questions or maybe finding out a little too much, we would move. I think I went to 5 different elementary schools and 4 different high schools.

On the outside, my family looked perfectly normal. BM looked like a dedicated, hard working single mom who overcame all the odds against her and SD looked like the loving dad who stepped up for kids who weren’t his.

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I didn’t know, at the time, that I was being trafficked. I didn’t even know I was being abused. I didn’t know there was a word for it, because it was just my life. It was all I ever knew and I was just kid, trying to make sense of my existence. I had never experienced anything differently, so how would I know anything different ever existed. But because of the severity of the trauma and complete lack of emotional connection with BM, my brain learned to dissociate – to separate the abuse from rest of my life. The lived experience of my life didn’t align with the things I had learned about families and parents. I knew better than to ask questions, so I just created different “masks” to put on in different places, to make sure I kept myself and my secrets, safe.

BM and SD were divorced when I was 8/9 years old (I think), but SD stayed around for a little while. The last time I saw him, as a child, BM had sent my biological sister and I to go visit him in NJ (we lived in CA). That was the Christmas when Mars Attacks was in theaters. That visit was one of the most horrific experiences of my life because he had no one to stop him from doing whatever he wanted.

I wish I could say I was safe after that. But that was only the beginning. BM would invite several more abusers into our home and gave them access to me. BM helped me reconnect with SD when I was 16, because I still believed I was daddy’s little girl, I was still blinded by the brainwashing. And he picked up right where he left off. But we’ll get into the teenage years in another post; I think this is enough for one day.

There are still children, like me, out there every single day. Children who think there’s nothing wrong with what’s happening to them because it’s all they’ve ever known. Children are being abused and sold, right under our noses, every day, but no one is aware enough to notice what’s happening because they’re looking at a picture perfect family.

But you can be the reason these kids feel safe.

If you want to help these kids, be intentional about becoming trauma-informed. Listen to survivors. Understand that these kids are some of the most brainwashed and manipulated little humans and they’re scared. They may not know how to tell someone what’s happening; but just keep listening. I need everyone to recognize that the real threat to your children isn’t some rando snatching them from a grocery store parking lot. The narrative that trafficking only happens in “dramatic scenes” like that, gives parents a false sense of control; the idea that the threat is something external.

Please, hear me when I say, while random child abductions do happen, the more insidious threat to our kids is the people who we allow access to them. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am by no means blaming innocent parents for the actions of abusers. Abusers are great liars and excellent manipulators. They know how to get what they want while making it seem like it was your idea. And it’s terrifying to realize that it can be almost impossible to know who’s putting on an act and who’s not. I’m also not saying we should distrust everyone, but I am saying that our kids’ safety is more important than anyone’s hurt feelings.

Please share this post. Help spread this information. Child trafficking isn’t a fancy Hollywood production. It’s the real, lived trauma of countless children. It’s uncomfy, it’s disturbing, and it’s horrifying. But if you want to help these silent survivors, GET TRAUMA-INFORMED! Seriously. Being trauma-informed, alone, will allow you to have a better perspective. From there, be aware, be alert, and be safe.