Sexual trauma – especially at a young age is heartbreaking, but it also is a gateway event to sexually acting out (not a fan of that term, but I don’t have other words to use?) and becoming a trafficker’s wet dream. Self-esteem and lack thereof plays a huge role in who will become a victim of human trafficking and the sex industry as a whole. We become targets for the worst shooters around.

I was sexually molested when I was a young girl – repeatedly. I had loving parents. I wasn’t beaten, abused nor neglected. I was loved. Textbook case: I never told my parents until it was too late. Being sexually molested, starting at the age of three years old, is like a training camp for future victims. You begin to believe that your body does not belong to you; it’s there for the taking. Boundaries – what are boundaries? You unconsciously learn that sex is a way to get attention. Your self-worth depends on it. Your self-image is that of someone who believes they are worthless, powerless and most of all, disposable.

I believe the roots of the mindset of young girls and women who end up victims of human trafficking needs to be addressed. I’m sure there are many different events that lead to the diminishing of ones self-image – I’ve stated one, as I can only speak from my personal experience. I would like to add – that this isn’t the story for millions of young girls in different countries. I think their circumstances might differ.

With that understanding, it’s simple to see how young girls and women become easy prey for traffickers; formally known as “Pimps.”

When I hit my teen years – I put my parents through hell. Constantly running away, constantly ending up in Juvenile Hall, and constantly being my own worst enemy. I didn’t have the skills or the personal belief in myself to make other choices. I met my pimp when I was 16 years old in downtown Portland. He spewed the perfect flowery words that my crushed self-esteem needed to hear. You’re beautiful, you’re America’s finest, men love you, you could make so much money and have everything your heart desires…blah, blah, blah. I ate those crumbs of flattery like a starving, malnourished child. He made me feel good about myself, something I wasn’t used to, but loved. It was merely a band-aid on my invisible self-worth. So, I was turned out on the streets of Portland. Union Avenue became my home in 1982. Working 10-12 hour shifts, in the rain was less than the glamour I was promised. Being gang raped by knifepoint wasn’t one of the highlights of being manipulated into the lifestyle.

Having the Portland Police look me straight in the eye, as I stood before them, bloodied, beaten, and with my breast exposed, and tell me that no crime had been committed because I was a prostitute was just another blow. A strong reaffirming message was well received: I didn’t matter. My body did not belong to me and I was disposable. No report was ever taken as I stood at that gas station on 82nd Avenue that night. The gas station attendant gave the officers the license plate number of my attacker’s vehicle, yet they didn’t bother with it. In fact, they were out of there within minutes of showing up. Leaving a bloody child to fend for herself. When I got home with no money I was treated to, yet, another ass beating.

My pimp and I traveled all up and down the west coast. I worked in Seattle – Sacramento, San Francisco, Hollywood, Bakersfield, and San Diego. When we went to Las Vegas – (a year and half after turning my first trick), I had had enough. I turned myself in as a runaway – and was flown home yet I didn’t even stay one night at my parent’s house.

Feeling so removed from mainstream society – I immediately went back to work to make the money for my pimp to fly home. I was embedded in the lifestyle. I couldn’t relate to anyone who wasn’t in the business. I didn’t belong anywhere else. That was my mindset. My pimp? Yes, I viewed him as my ‘boyfriend’ – not as someone who was using me and mentally brainwashing my every move and thought. I was in love. Ugh.

Two years on the streets had me tired and full of anxiety. I was scared of everything and everyone. Being raped and beaten was a constant. It was the norm. I could fill an industrial sized vat of each rape experience I endured – and still need more room. The violence was endless. I escaped my pimp on a few occasions – only to be brutally kidnapped back. I finally made the break from him.

I wanted to be ‘normal’ so bad. I got myself a part-time job at Meyer & Franks as a janitor. My supervisor was a trick that had pulled a knife to my throat and tried to rape me – guess I was lucky, as I jumped out of his moving vehicle. The job didn’t last long. It was hard to work for someone who assaulted me with a deadly weapon. I went to the company headquarters and asked to be transferred to another store, without giving the real reason for wanting to be moved. I was met by the president of the company – who had me give him head for $50. I took the money and never returned to that job. I went back to the streets without a pimp. I dabbled in stripping and massage parlors as well.

My attempts to get out of the business were futile.

I gave birth to my son when I was 21 years old. Having this wonderful little person dependent on me was a changing point in my life. Sadly, not a big enough change though. I decided I could no longer risk being killed or locked up, so I took my one-woman show to the Mustang Ranch outside of Reno, Nevada. I’d work for three weeks on – three weeks off in the beginning – leaving my infant son with his grandmother: His father’s mother. After a year or so I was allowed to work one week on and take off for two. Most of the women that worked with me – were from Oregon. Portland and Eugene. Women from all over the world were sold at the Mustang – but the majority of women were from Oregon. Why is that?

I worked at the Mustang Ranch for 10 years. 10 years. Having dropped out of school in the 9th grade – and no work history, I felt I had no other options. This career was my fate. I was stuck in my own misguided beliefs about myself.

A prisoner without chains.

Heads up: Just because it’s legal – doesn’t make the job any less dehumanizing and degrading. The human rights violations that were common practice are unbelievable. But no one cared or listened and if you spoke up, you were fired. I was fired a lot – only to be rehired again, with the promise to keep my mouth shut. The last 5 years of my stint at the Ranch, I became addicted to meth to cope. It was common – again no one cared, as long as the house was making money off of you.

In 1997, with the helping hand of a customer, I left the ranch and never looked back. I left my stilettos, and the meth for a new life.

It’s been 13 years I’ve been out of the business, and I’ve never had the desire to go back. Never. I went to school immediately to learn how to turn on a computer, so I could be somewhat employable. It worked. I was finally home with my son all the time and had a job as a receptionist. Then I landed a wonderful position at Intel Corporation and worked there for two years. I was thriving. I was ‘normal’. I was part of society. Or so I thought.

You don't just walk away.

Being a survivor doesn’t mean that there aren’t side effects from 16 years in the sex-industry. I suffer from depression, General Anxiety Disorder, PTSD and OCD. I still wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares. Years of therapy and meds have helped me cope and deal with the trauma I endured, but I’m not totally healed. Healing is a process. Life long? I don’t know.

I am 12 credits away from earning my Bachelors of Science.  I’m majoring in Liberal Studies with a minor in Women Studies. This educational journey has been more life affirming than any therapy, and most likely the costliest endeavor I’ve ever spent on my self-esteem, but I think it’s worth it. I know I'm worth it.

I’ve found a lot of my healing via artwork. I’m a painter. Having sold artwork to collectors around the world has been nothing short of empowering. Wow – not only am I intelligent, and worthy - I’m also talented! Who would have known? I want to help women with the healing process via creating. I found it to be extremely helpful in my process – and I believe it can be for others. I also believe a spiritual path is important – but I’m not willing to ram any one path down a victims throat. That’s a great way to send them running for the door. I think faith is important – but I also believe people need to find their own path that suits them.

If I can help just one young girl or woman find her true self-worth through sharing my story, and helping her get out from under the oppression of another or her own internal oppression – then my victimization will have not been in vain. Time to paint!

Press conference with US Senator Ron Wyden, Democrat from Oregon - Regarding the need for awareness and shelters for the young victims of human trafficking.  July 2010.

I currently spend my time between New Orleans, Portland and Hawaii.  Painting all the way.