“By Coach [John] Wooden’s definition, success is peace of mind, which is a direct result of self-satisfaction in knowing you’ve done the best of which you are capable.”
–BRIAN D. BIRO, BEYOND SUCCESS
That girl in the mirror—she survived. And now that I can see her looking back at me, I am able to love her for the first time. She is the child in me who seeks happiness and helps me keep balance in a sometimes crazy and backward world. She’s the one who brings me to books like the Dalai Lama’s The Art of Happiness, which I’ve read or listened to at least a dozen times. I keep listening because every time I get something new. During a recent five-hour drive, I heard one passage for the twelfth time, but I finally got it: “When you are aware of your pain and suffering, it helps you to develop your capacity for empathy…looking at suffering [this way], our attitude may begin to change, our suffering may not be as worthless and as bad as we think.”
Many of us have so many comforts, we tend to believe that suffering is an aberration, the exception and not the rule; it simply should not be part of our lives. Our entitlement can be so ingrained in us that when we do suffer—from grief, from heartache, from deprivation—it’s almost a default position to protest, Why me? Why am I the only one? Why did God or the universe or the cosmos do this to me? Which does nothing to lighten the pain and only adds resentment to it.
As I realize the value of my suffering, I see that others feel pain and that they have found ways to muddle through it. The suffering we have in common makes me feel less alone, less singled out, and more in tune with others. Looking for sympathy is “poor me”; Learning empathy is “We’re all in this together.” One only digs us further into the hole, but the other—the blessed, healing other—sheds the kind of light that will eventually bring us closer to our God-given selves.
Awareness of child sex exploitation and trafficking for too long has been limited to Somewhere Else—far away in Thailand or Cambodia. The U.S. Department of Justice estimates that nearly one million human beings a year are bought and sold over international borders. But it is not a faraway tragedy; it happens here at home as well, fed by (and often shielded by) the Internet, where pedophiles and predators actively search for vulnerable children.
According to recent studies from Shared Hope International and the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children, one in seven American children will run away from home, and within forty-eight hours of running, one out of every three will be asked, as I was, to “take care” of someone in exchange for food, money, clothes and at times just affection. Runaways commonly report that a family conflict led to their departure, but the consequences to them extend beyond the obvious perils of homelessness. In the United States alone, the average age at which children are bought and sold for purposes of sex is between twelve and fourteen; some are as young as five. These children are not prostitutes; what they are engaged in is not prostitution. It is rape, abuse, slavery, and torture. The severity and impact of sex trafficking on a victim, especially on young victims, translates into lengthy recovery times with many setbacks.
I have accepted that every survivor is unique. Not all of us love math, or even school. Most of us won’t make it out the first time we’re offered help. Some of us won’t make it out at all. Relapses, whether with drugs, alcohol, or domestic abuse, are destructive methods of coping—but sometimes these crutches are all we know. And “success” is defined differently for each of us: a good night’s sleep, the ability to hold a job, to maintain friendships or relationships, to further an education, to be self-sustaining, to trust in people again, to nurture our faith in God—or simply not to harm others in a cycle of violence and abuse that gets perpetuated generation after generation.
Despite all of our differences I find in our similarities my inspiration to continue to do outreach and advocacy. Survivors are the same in that we no longer want to be the victim, and if given the opportunity we will do what it takes to improve our lives. This has been proven thousands of times over in the sexual assault and domestic violence movements, and the same is happening now in our fight against modern-day slavery. We are finding ways to be empowered—through education, mentorship, and most of all through recognizing our own worth by making valuable contributions in our communities.
One program, Girls Enhancement and Mentoring Services (GEMS), has been working for more than a decade to enhance the lives of young girls who have been disempowered through sexual exploitation. Rachel Lloyd’s model of providing opportunities to move from victim to survivor to leader is arguably one of the most successful models in human history.
Though empowerment is the goal, the first step continues to be the most grueling and at times the least rewarding work: rescuing victims from the street and providing for their immediate needs. In the United States no one has been doing this longer than Dr. Lois Lee at Children of the Night. Both Rachel and Lois are available to provide training and opportunities for children escaping prostitution. Lois also provides outreach and housing for boys and has an alumni group that numbers in the thousands. This alumni group, as well as the young women graduating from GEMS and other programs, is paving the way for an international movement to be led by empowered survivors.
The hope I share with many is that the next generation of victims will be met with an informed approach that addresses their actual needs and desires. Continuing the transition from victim to survivor and later to advocate enhances the quality of our services and keeps our efforts in outreach and prevention informed. How can we know about the greatest harms done in our communities unless we build bridges for those who have lived through them? Contact information for Dr. Lois Lee and Rachel Lloyd and additional contacts are included in the resource pages at the end of the book. If you are in a rural area or are simply not sure what to do to protect runaways from exploitation in your community, connect with larger agencies that are seeking partners around the world.
For adult survivors searching for an opportunity to give back, browse through all of the resource pages to find something that fits your interests. In my own journey to find my place in this movement I have made many mistakes, had my setbacks, and changed directions many times. Still Ron, Mrs. W, Barbara, Marx, and my best friends have all stayed on my personal list of resources—which I believe we all need.
Romans 8:28
And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.
Given enough time and effort, life brings us closer to our true selves. As the years go by, I am better able to accept the flawed nature of who I am. My early experiences created roadblocks to intimacy—hurt, fear, and even regret held me back. I have been close to many people, even loved them, but I could not find a way to stay in these relationships for long. Once fights broke out or disagreements surfaced—sometimes even at the first hint of frustration—I was gone.
Still, I went through the motions, trying my best to carve out meaning in otherwise shallow relationships. I was hopeful that a friend I brought along to share a celebratory dinner with Mrs. W and Henry would become much more. We had been dating for months. He was a good person, with a wonderful daughter, but we both wanted something that I suspected was not there. I tried to push my doubts aside. Leaving the restaurant shoulder to shoulder with Mrs. W, I waited until we were out of earshot, and then I asked her, “What do you think? How is he for me?”
“Oh, sweetie,” she said in a low voice, “when will you forgive the men who have hurt you? It’s the only way you’ll ever be happy.”
I was stunned. She must have seen it on my face. The determined-to-be-sure-of-herself woman in me instinctively wanted to scream back, “Never! I will never forgive them!” But I knew better. Her words hit me like a bucket of cold water, as though waking me from a dream. Could it be that I still carried this resentment with me? Was I the one who was not ready to be in love yet?
That night as I drove away in my car, alone, my mind still resisted. To be unable to fall in love made me feel like that unworthy, locked-up child who could not be trusted until she learned her lesson. It hurt to hear, but as much as I wanted to dismiss Mrs. W’s words, I could not. She recognized what I was capable of when others could not see past my juvy-issued blues and golds. Her belief in me all those years ago had helped me to find my way. Sitting in my car, I let her words of forgiveness wash over me. Maybe I was capable. Maybe I could find a way to forgive those men.
Years have passed since that night, and recently Mrs. W lost her second battle with cancer. But I watched her closely as she lived. She began each day with purpose and gladness, sustained by her companionship with her dearest Henry and her deep faith that God’s hand was always on them. Tired moments came, after chemo and lost sleep, yet she still expressed only one thing: gratitude. In the beginning Mrs. W taught me about numbers, the unknowns, the reals, and the imaginaries. Toward the end she taught me how to carry myself in the world, and today her life lived reminds me that only good comes to those who dare to love perfectly.