UP CLOSE

The story you're about to read has only been shared with a handful of people. The reason being, it sounds like the obvious fib in the game Two Truths And A Lie.

January is National Slavery and Human Trafficking Prevention Month in the USA. While I don't live in the US anymore, I take every opportunity to talk about this growing problem hoping that someone would learn something new or be inspired to fight trafficking in whatever way possible.

As I've mentioned before in "THE FIGHT AGAINST TRAFFICKING. HOW IT STARTED" and "RUNNING OUTREACH IN NICARAGUA," up until a couple of years ago, my job entailed supporting victims and survivors of sex trafficking–mainly, but not limited to, working in safe houses with female survivors.

Working with trafficking survivors is challenging, especially in the shelter setting. It's difficult because the psychological traumas that trafficking victims endure leave traces on their bodies and minds, affecting perception and function.

When I was 21 and a senior in college, I started volunteering with an anti-trafficking organization in Arkansas. This is where my journey as an advocate began. I wanted to learn as much as I could, so I attended staff trainings and meetings, accompanied the organization's founder to speaking engagements, and started doing night shifts at the safe house. A few weeks after I started helping at the shelter, I was invited to take part in training groups wanting to learn about sex trafficking. Obviously, I jumped at the opportunity!

When I looked at the outline of the two-day training, I saw that something was missing. And it was something important. "The Effects of Trafficking on the Brain." This is the title I gave my part after researching how trauma could change the brain of those who endure it.

IN HINDSIGHT

In my mid-twenties, I moved back to the US for a few months to volunteer with two anti-trafficking organizations. These organizations fought against human trafficking in different ways. One focused on awareness and prevention, and the other offered a safe place for female victims who had escaped the life (jargon for prostitution).

I focused more on helping the organization involved in aftercare. They needed to add structure to their recovery program, creating a general plan of action for staff and residents and getting it all down on paper. And that was precisely what I had been doing for the previous two years, so I was excited to help make that part of the job easier for them.

I had agreed to stay with this organization for a few months and do consultancy work–observe their program and make recommendations that would help improve their services. However, this role quickly became more hands-on than it was intended to be.

After being at the program for a couple of days, I was asked to stand in for a fatigued staff and take on some house manager duties. I loved the work so much that I didn't mind fulfilling the role for a short period. I was happy to help. But I was also naive and lacked boundaries.

As they say, hindsight is a beautiful thing. Because I was so eager to help, I did not see that I was walking into a dangerous situation. I read somewhere that passion without knowledge will get you in trouble. I can attest to the truth of this statement. I got in trouble (or almost did) because my passion exceeded my knowledge.

Being as knowledgeable as I was passionate in this story meant making further inquiries about the program. Knowledge would be asking questions that would inform me exactly where the safe house was located, who the residents were, how many staff members worked on-site, where I would be sleeping, and what kind of foods I would be eating.

Let me answer those questions: In a TINY town out in the middle of nowhere. ONE high-risk resident. Four staff members but no house manager. On a squeaky bed in the art room of the shelter. Donated canned foods and old muffins.

Knowing the answers to these questions would have helped me prepare for the insane weeks ahead. Maybe. Maybe not. Nevertheless, I now know not to say yes to something this serious before doing thorough research. And I emphatically reject the practice of a safe house manager who lives on-site and works daily. This increases the likelihood of experiencing vicarious trauma and burnout.

THE EFFECTS OF TRAUMA

Today I want to say the same thing I said when I was 21 and learning about sex trafficking victims from sex trafficking survivors: TRAUMAS LEAVE WOUNDS.

Complex trauma has a profound impact on victims of sex trafficking. This is because the day-to-day occurrences in the life of victims are dehumanizing and gruesome. Some individuals escape the exploitative conditions of the life, but the effects linger. Being constantly subjected to sexual violence, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, and isolation create actual changes in the brain. Chronic stress–the recurrent and long-term over-activation of the physiological stress responses and the release of hormones into the brain–has damaging effects on the body.

Depression, anxiety, panic disorders, Stockholm syndrome, and complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD) are some of the psychological repercussions of trauma in trafficking victims. Also, many victims struggle to identify, manage, and express emotions. Most (if not all) of the survivors I have worked with struggled with emotional illiteracy. For others, the effects are more severe.

The aforementioned was the case for the resident in the care of the organization I agreed to support when I was 25. The trauma endured by this woman had been so severe that it caused life-long physical and psychological consequences. Consequences that put her life (and mine) in danger.

CRAZIEST DAY ON THE JOB

There I was, living in a safe house in the middle of nowhere with someone whose core self had been fragmented by violence and exploitation. Suddenly, one resident became four. And I was perplexed. I had only read about this in textbooks but had never witnessed it.

There were so many protocols to safeguard this resident, and rightfully so. During my first night shift at the safe house, I heard and saw enough to know that this woman needed more help than the organization could provide. That night, I was sure I would die–if not at the hand of the resident, then surely at the hands of the cult involved in her exploitation.

As I watched the sun rise after that crazy night, I sighed, relieved to see daylight. In a few hours, the other staff would be coming in to work to talk about bringing other residents into the program. But what needed to happen, and what I expressed repeatedly, was that they were unequipped to accommodate high-risk individuals.

I understand that it is difficult to receive feedback. A lot of times, they sound like criticism and personal attacks. Shame, that intense painful feeling and belief that we are flawed and not enough, will threaten to overtake those receiving feedback IF we don't do the work to build resilience (the capacity to adapt and recover from a crisis). If you are a leader, it is crucial to learn to listen to opinions, not internalize what is being said, and harbor feelings of bitterness, insecurity, and inadequacy. This is crucial for all of us. We all need to build shame resilience, leverage information to our advantage, and self-regulate.

My feedback was rejected, and my life was in danger. I was sure a cult would raid the safe house and take us. And at the end of that day, I almost flipped the car I was driving when someone turned off their headlights and began to chase me down a gravel road. I was out of that place shortly after.

I share this because I want people to know how life-altering sex trafficking is. And how difficult it is to work in such proximity to pain. People who have lived through complex traumas are not "difficult." They are broken and in need of help to come back together, whole and healed.

Restoration is possible. I've seen it. Watching the transformation in the lives of the people putting in the work to heal from unfathomable abuse and violence will always inspire me in a way that words can't describe.

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When I first thought about writing this story, I imagined doing it in a way that would allow every reader to walk in my shoes as the house manager doing a wild shift. I imagined telling the story the way you would when describing your last birthday to a friend who couldn't make it. However, I soon realized that giving too much detail and information to tell this story would have been selfish and reckless. I want to respect people's life stories and their right to share them. This is why I condensed the actual crazy story and focused on explaining what caused it to be so mad in the first place. I also wanted to share what it's like to work with vulnerable and high-risk individuals because only those at the front lines usually know how wild, dangerous, painful, and beautiful the work is.