Survivor Story: Leslie

I grew up in a broken home. My father was an alcoholic and a workaholic, and my mom was a drug addict. When I was young, my mother abandoned me, and I was left living with my father. Although he is only one person, it felt like living with two completely different people. I never knew if he would be the fun, happy-go-lucky drunk or the “I’m going to beat you” kind of drunk. I was on edge everyday walking on eggshells around him.

At 15 years old, I was sexually abused by my own father. Not only was I sexually abused, but also blamed for tearing apart my own family. See, before the sexual abuse, I was a straight-A student in school, but almost immediately after I started to fail almost every subject. I truly believe I was in a state of psychosis for quite some time. I was operating in a dissociated state, completely separated from myself, my surroundings, and my reality.

One day, I confided in a girl I went to school with about the abuse. She rightfully told the school’s Dean, and he called law enforcement who pulled me out of class and questioned me. I don’t remember much of the details, but I do remember saying “You can’t send me home or he is going to kill me.” I remember my dad, stepmom, and sister arriving at the police station. My stepmom said that I was lying and making it up. My sister gave me a look that said, “What are you doing to our family?” And my dad, in an unconcerned, almost arrogant tone said, “If she said I did it, then I probably did it.” His half-hearted admission got him arrested and slapped with a million-dollar bond. He was bonded out by my stepmom the same day, while I had no choice but to go live either with my drug addicted mom or an alcoholic, abusive stepdad. I was so hopeless at this point in my life. I remember thinking to myself, if I could just get taken away from here, then I would be better off. Which is ironic, because as you will learn later, I was actually kidnapped, and it was not in fact better than my home situation.

My hopelessness brought me to a place of wanting to end my own life. At one point while living with my mom, I swallowed a handful of her pills and the next thing I knew I was in a hospital with a bunch of tubes down my throat. I remember seeing my mom in the room, but she was relationally so foreign to me that all I wanted was my stepmom. After this event, my living situation was in limbo. My mom and stepdad were unsafe for me and didn’t provide the supervision or support I needed. My dad was my abuser, and my stepmom always chose him over me. The solution that was provided for me was that I would live with a couple that my stepmom knew during the week and on the weekend my stepmom would make my dad go to a hotel and I would stay in the house. Shelter came at a price. I was forced to nanny for this couple as well as clean for them and do whatever else I was told. If I refused in any way, I would be considered insubordinate and they would threaten to kick me out. Even worst than that, the husband would frequently rape me as punishment. My daughter was conceived through this punishment.

The next part of my story is hard for me to even believe is true, so I understand if you think it’s crazy. I was in my late twenties and a mother to five children. As much as I promised myself I would never be like my mom, I found myself repeating a lot of her same patterns with my own kids. My son started hanging around the wrong crowd and, in my overprotectiveness, I inserted myself into the situation. I ended up breaking my eight years of sobriety with one of the guys my son was hanging out with. My then husband and I started having major issues due to his alcoholism, so one night I kicked him out of the house. I thought he would sober up and things would get better, but he actually ended up moving in with the neighbor. After this, my house became free for all. There were times that I had no idea who was in my house. Things became so unmanageable that an actual bomb went off in my house. No seriously. A guy who would frequent my house manufactured a bomb and left it in my home for months. When I was trying to dispose of it, the bomb detonated, resulting in significant injury to my face.

After this event, my husband got custody of the kids, and I isolated myself in my apartment until an eviction was filed on me and I was arrested. After I was released, I stayed with one of my son’s acquaintances. He would later be my first trafficker. He would beat me and lock me in a room that had deadbolts on the outside of the door. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without his permission. What I am about to say sounds crazy, but it was true for me at the time: being with him felt like a fairytale. All of my life, all I wanted was to be wanted. His possessiveness and control over me felt like being wanted. I told myself, “They love me this much, that’s why they’re doing this.” This came to a screeching halt when my first trafficker was arrested, and at first I believed this nightmare would come to end and I could get out, but then his mother sold me to my second trafficker three days after his arrest.

I can barely even put into words how terrible my second trafficker was to me. My time with him was worse than any human mind could imagine. There are so many stories I could share about my time with him, but I will just say that I was constantly face-to-face with pure evil and one step away from death's doorway. With him, I was truly in captivity. He took me to a compound in the middle of the woods, took all my identity, and used my own children against me to keep me compliant. He constantly threatened to have my children raped or killed if I ever spoke out against him. Every family member on this compound was involved in keeping me silent and the abuse that took place. I attempted to escape several times but never was successful, and each time the punishment was that much more severe.

In October of 2022, I was found wandering in the woods beaten and naked. A hunter who spotted me called 911 and I was taken to a hospital for a rape kit and treatment. The hospital provided me with the resources to be transported to a shelter in Arkansas. Even though the unfamiliarity of the shelter scared me, I was more terrified that if I didn’t go my trafficker would kill me. While I was at the shelter, a girl approached me and told me she was a trafficking victim and I asked her what she meant. She explained to me what trafficking was, and I realized that I too was a trafficking victim. She connected me with a lady who became an advocate to aid me in what I prayed for constantly: freedom.

When I left the first shelter, I was transported to another part of the state where I would meet the people who truly wanted what was best for me even when I had no clue what that looked like. I met them at their church where they spoke with me about how they were planning to help me, and they ended up getting me a hotel room where I could stay until another shelter had an available bed for me. While I was at the hotel they came to check on me. I remember one woman being very gentle with me. She would sit and talk with me about Jesus and how much He loves me. She always spoke life into me and would tell me of a better life that God had prepared for me, and He was just waiting for me to accept His free gift. Even when I relapsed during this time, she never judged me, shamed me, or made me feel like she was slightly disappointed in me.

I made it to 100 days of freedom from my trafficker, but unfortunately he had his claws so deep into me that it took several tries for me to truly break free from him. There were at least six different occasions where I would go back to my trafficker and then leave him again. Each time I reached back out to the group at church, and each time they protected me, sheltered me, and met any of my needs. They never refused me.

They were the most consistent thing I ever had in my life, until they got me to The WellHouse, where I was met with another support team of women like I had never experienced. It was truly a miracle and truly had to be God-ordained because without this place and these “angels” I would be dead. This is a statement I do not doubt at all. The WellHouse, a restorative program for survivors of sex trafficking like me. I knew this opportunity was my last chance, and things were different this time around because I finally helped myself. I didn’t wait for someone to come rescue me. I literally fought my way out of captivity, and I almost did not make it.

I am finally discovering who I am because of the support, encouragement, and love I received from The WellHouse. I now know the difference between safe and unsafe people, and I have learned to truly love myself regardless of what I have done or the situations that I once thought would forever define me. I have values, integrity, self worth, and have finally figured out what it looks like to love myself and others properly. I have experienced what true love and support feels like and learned who I am in Christ. This amazing and wonderful team of support has shown me what the love of Christ looks like. They have faithfully guided me, held my hand, and taught me how to walk again but this time in my true identity. I have reconnected with almost all of my children and their children. It brings me so much joy and pride to say that I will soon be a WellHouse Graduate. God has orchestrated all these miracles and has shown me what it really means to be truly loved, wanted, seen, and heard.

Without the support of The WellHouse, a woman like me would have been forever unheard and unseen, but with their support, a woman like me can be seen as a light in the darkness. And my light can and will impact others around me. It is living proof that there are people in this world who see you and want to help you. I want anyone hearing my story to know that today I am taking back my power, and you can too!