“You don’t actually think you can change the law, right? I
mean, you’re really naive if you do.” I have certainly had my
share of adversity, but this comment hit me harshly, as it
was coming from a woman who proclaimed herself to be a feminist and
women’s rights advocate, serving as the director of the city government’s
office for women where I lived. And her deflating yet inflammatory
comment came on the heels of my very first time speaking out at a
human trafficking awareness conference at a local university. During
this speech, I filleted my veins wide open, recollecting my own personal
experience of being married off at sixteen years of age to a man in his
early thirties, the same man who I met at a time when he was in a
position of authority over me at the behavioral health facility I had
been admitted to only two years earlier. In this speech, I also disclosed
publicly for the first time the exploitation I suffered as result of this
marriage. Yet somehow this woman had the audacity to proclaim that
this fire burning so brightly inside of me to fight the laws that allowed
and perpetuated these actions, nearly destroying me in the process, was
culpable of naivety.
I wish I could share with you that I had some clever quip back, but
I did not at the time. The only thing I could do was bite my tongue, quite
literally, and allow the hot flush that engulfed my pale skin to happen, as
there was no controlling it. I knew better than to listen to — much less
give energy to — those who would have me believe I was incapable in
any manner. I had already proven so many people wrong, as statistically
I should have been an addict, chronically living in poverty, or some combination
of the two. This is what childhood trauma does to people. This
is what child marriage does to people. This is what sexual exploitation
does to people. And having survived it all, I was determined to stop it.
My ultimate goal in 2016, the divinely guided purpose of my life’s
mission during that season of my life, was to change the state laws that
allowed child marriage to occur through parental consent or judicial
exception. In my own experience, my mother’s consent to me marrying
this much older man who she allowed me to begin dating when I was
just fourteen opened the door to my entrapment in an extremely abusive
and coercive relationship for the years to follow. Yes, with the stroke
of a pen, the man I married at sixteen — who I now refer to as my
perpetrator — was granted a literal license to continue sexually abusing
me, an act that without this signature and the laws that allowed it could
have been prosecuted as statutory rape.
Laws that perpetuate the cycles of sexual abuse, oftentimes
multi-generational cycles, are ultimately perversely immoral. And so it
is to starkly attempt to shut down the efforts of survivor leaders in the
fight to protect upcoming and future generations from the darkness we
blindly crawled our way through to break these cycles once and for all.
Those who abused us sought to silence us. Those who mock our efforts
to make this world a safer place are seeking to do the same. For me,
and many other survivor leaders I know, this adds fuel to our fire, and
we will not smolder to ash without putting up a fight with every bit of
resilience our minds and bodies can muster. I had to do this for nearly
the first twenty years of my life to survive. And I will continue to bring
this forth when necessary now. The stakes are too high to be stagnant
and complacent.
Speaking out for the first time at that conference was a catalyst for
so much to follow that would have me visiting multiple state capitals,
giving testimony to legislative bodies, providing multiple interviews
with local, national, and even international reporters, and even appearing
in a documentary highlighting the problematic prevalence of child
marriage today. My story shines a light on the uncommonly understood
fact that child marriage itself is a form of human trafficking. In my case
specifically, being married to a pedophile positioned him to be able to
traffic me in strip clubs and exploit me through other means. Yet I could
not prosecute him in my early thirties when I first found the strength to
do so, as the state laws in Indiana, where my abuse by this perpetrator
initiated, held a statute of limitations that too much time had passed.
At every turn, instead of the laws being geared to protect me as
a child, the loopholes within them ultimately protected a sociopathic
pedophile from prosecution. This individual does not deserve to have
his name spoken or known, as in doing so he would be granted a sense
of the undeserved illusion of power and prestige. This is how his abusive
and perverse mind operates and I refuse to indulge that in any capacity
any longer. Therefore, throughout this text you will find I use three terms
to acknowledge him: my perpetrator, the pedophile, and the parasite.
He was my perpetrator as he groomed my underage mind and body,
the pedophile that abused me in heinous ways, and the parasite whose
imprint I can never fully escape despite having been away from his toxicity
for years now, as the impact of trauma he imposed upon my life is
a ghostly stain I can never fully shake. These hideous terms are the only
ones befitting of him.
I write this memoir with the intention to form a coalition of
survivor leaders working together with arms linked as we deepen our
healing through community with each other and work toward ending
the laws and other systemic failures that perpetuate crimes against those
vulnerable to abuse and exploitation. There are so many opportunities
for change within our society. Legislation governing underage marriage
laws and state level statutes of limitations that place burden on the victim
of atrocious crimes to come forth before it is psychologically safe enough
to do so must be addressed. Exploitation within mental health institutions
and other helping professions must be more thoroughly researched
and acknowledged, with perpetrators held accountable. Systemic change
across these focus areas is critical for traumatic cycles to have opportunity
to cease within families and communities as a whole. Everything is
interconnected with mental health and trauma recovery residing at the
core of the issues at hand.
It is my belief that when we survive atrocities, we have a responsibility
to find purpose in the events that changed us — or perhaps
molded us if the abuse began very early on in our lives. The duration of
this lifetime on Earth is so very limited, but we must be mindful and
focused on the legacy we choose to leave for generations to come. The
imprint we make on this world will be experienced long after our last
breath, meaning we can plant seeds for trees we may never enjoy shade
from, gratefully knowing our descendants will. For me, these trees are
the ability to create a life one does not have to spend years recovering
from, as I have.
One thing is for certain. Regardless of those who would have me
dilute my voice, I will continue my efforts to bring an end to the antiquated
laws that perpetuate crimes against children.
