Last night I was studying psychology, and I learned the definition of human trafficking. For something to be human trafficking, there needs to be an act, a means, and a purpose, with the intention of profit. For years, I haven't had language to describe what my family did to me for about a year of my life. Now I know the right term for it was human trafficking. The act: transfer. I was transferred from one family member to another. The means: deception and abuse of vulnerability: I was deceived into thinking they would help me get a real job and I had almost no money, resources, or other support system. The purpose: forced labour. After I was transferred, I had to labour for no pay. I wasn't allowed to say no and I was physically prohibited from leaving the premises. And by forcing me to work for no pay, they made a huge profit. My family human trafficked me. In suburban North America. For a year. And I had no idea what was happening.
My wrists were never bound with rope. My mouth was never sealed with duct tape. I was bound mentally. With brainwashing, drugs, and alcohol. I was so abused that I thought I was lucky that they were protecting me from homelessness. I was so abused that I thought I was a shameful failure for not having a real job. I even had an online therapist at the time and I described everything that was happening to her. She made excuses for the abuse because the abusers were my family. I was paying her over a hundred dollars a week to be told that everything was actually fine and that I was lucky to have somewhere to live "for free."
From the time I was 4 years old, I never had a place to live for free. I was expected to work, and manage emotions, and soothe egos, and solve marital disputes, and act as a free therapist. From the age of 4. I was human trafficked as an adult so I was doing 20 times as much labour for free every day. I didn't have a place to live for free. I was just working for no pay so I could never leave.
It feels surreal. Like I'm describing someone else's life even though it's mine. I know that I'm smart, and funny, and a whole complex person with friends, and goals, and good memories of times spent with good people. Memories of being seen and treated as fully human. And luckily I survived long enough to escape. Nowadays I'm safe and free and I spend every day of my life with people who love me and treat me as a fully human equal. But I'm also a survivor of human trafficking. That's not my identity, it's just a part of my story. But I am a full, complex, intelligent, brave, loving woman who is also a survivor of human trafficking. Committed by my family. In North America.
I know I need to work on coming to grips with the fact that human trafficking is just part of a person's story, not their whole story or their whole identity. And I think our culture needs to work on that too.
My wrists were never bound with rope. My mouth was never sealed with duct tape. I was bound mentally. With brainwashing, drugs, and alcohol. I was so abused that I thought I was lucky that they were protecting me from homelessness. I was so abused that I thought I was a shameful failure for not having a real job. I even had an online therapist at the time and I described everything that was happening to her. She made excuses for the abuse because the abusers were my family. I was paying her over a hundred dollars a week to be told that everything was actually fine and that I was lucky to have somewhere to live "for free."
From the time I was 4 years old, I never had a place to live for free. I was expected to work, and manage emotions, and soothe egos, and solve marital disputes, and act as a free therapist. From the age of 4. I was human trafficked as an adult so I was doing 20 times as much labour for free every day. I didn't have a place to live for free. I was just working for no pay so I could never leave.
It feels surreal. Like I'm describing someone else's life even though it's mine. I know that I'm smart, and funny, and a whole complex person with friends, and goals, and good memories of times spent with good people. Memories of being seen and treated as fully human. And luckily I survived long enough to escape. Nowadays I'm safe and free and I spend every day of my life with people who love me and treat me as a fully human equal. But I'm also a survivor of human trafficking. That's not my identity, it's just a part of my story. But I am a full, complex, intelligent, brave, loving woman who is also a survivor of human trafficking. Committed by my family. In North America.
I know I need to work on coming to grips with the fact that human trafficking is just part of a person's story, not their whole story or their whole identity. And I think our culture needs to work on that too.