I Am Not Ashamed

From victim to survivor.
Sure I’ll speak your language.
Since you refuse to learn mine.
I was sold by my mother.
Wait that’s not what you want to hear.
My pimp was the woman whose body grew mine.
Whose body God knit together my soul in.
I was sold for sex as a child.
Wait…
I was a victim of sex trafficking.
Because then you can have that layer of denial
Of cognitive dissonance
You don’t have to hear the words come out of my mouth
The words that would strobe graphic pictures in your head are too much
You don’t want to know what really happens
You can’t believe it would happen in your city
It happens in your city
No matter how big or how small
Do you have a gas station?
It happens in your city
Do you have a hotel?
It happens in your city
Do you have internet?
It happens in your city
I was a victim of sex trafficking. Trafficked in my home town. By my parents. By a national gang. I saw too much death way too young. I was born on drugs, literally, my mother had meth in her system when she gave birth. And Throughout my life she would shoot me up. Regularly. I live in pain every day, because of a pattern of things in my life that were there when I got here. I wish I could tell you it happened for only a year or two and then I was rescued. But that is not my story. My story is not a story of rescue. This is where sugar coating or speaking your language doesn’t really cut it. People bought me for years. As a child. This was all I knew. This was my normal. I knew it wasn’t normal, but it’s what I was conditioned to do. When I ran away. I was lucky in some ways. And not in others. I’ve been followed. I’ve been raped. I’ve been kidnapped. I’ve been beaten and shot up. I’ve been stocked. I’ve been ran over. And I’ve run away. I’ve sold myself. And for a long time felt a lot of shame about this. But you know what. I’m done with that. I was a sex worker. I was forcibly sold. And then I sold myself. I refuse to continue to wear the shame our society puts on the consensual selling and buying of sex. I refuse to allow the anti-trafficking movement to make me less of a trafficking survivor, because I later made the choice to sell my own body as others had done to/for me, for my entire life. One does not negate the other. I am a trafficking survivor. I was sold forcefully. I am a former sex worker. I sold myself, consensually. I am more than either of those things though. Life, my life, is worth more than any of those words. Those things are part of who I am. I am also a wife. I am a friend. I am a parent. I am a sister. I am a coworker. I am a neighbor. I am a writer. I am a student. I could go on, but you get the point. Being a trafficking survivor doesn’t define me. It is a big part of my life though, as an advocate (such a problematic word), for trafficking survivors, sex workers, DV survivors and many more. As Walt Whitman said, “Do I contradict myself? Very well; I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes.”
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s