What Perfection Hid: My Story of Survival and Hope

This guest blog is written by a survivor of *familial child sex trafficking. They are a consultant with NCMEC, helping to bring an informed lens to NCMEC's work.

*Familial trafficking is a child who is trafficked by a family member established by blood, marriage, or adoption. This includes, but is not limited to, biological mother and/or father, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, in-laws, and adoptive, foster, or stepparents.

When people imagine a child living in danger, they often picture an obvious scenario: a chaotic home, visible neglect, a child showing clear signs of distress. But for many of us, the danger hides in plain sight. That was my childhood. My life never matched the stereotypes or typical red flags for abuse. My family looked polished and perfect. And that perfection was the biggest warning sign.

My childhood home was where my parents sold me to be raped by other adults. I was regularly taken to hotels and motels, truck stops, and other people’s homes. All the while under the guise of a perfect family. Before I started kindergarten, I had already been trained to fly under the radar. The rules were absolute: speak only when spoken to; no crying; no complaining; no asking for anything. Perfect grades. Perfect behavior. Perfect appearance. Be polite but do not make friends. Blend in but never belong.

My parents were deliberate in crafting an image that concealed everything happening behind closed doors. And I became part of that image. My silence, my compliance, my constant effort to “be good” — these qualities were praised by adults I had interactions with because they had no idea what they were really looking at. I wasn’t thriving; I was surviving.

We need to pay closer attention to children who are quiet to the point of erasure, who seem overly mature or endlessly compliant, who avoid talking about their lives at home, who relate better to adults decades older than peers their own age. We also need to look critically at the adults in our communities who appear flawless, highly controlled, or overly concerned with image and reputation. Harm doesn’t only grow in the shadows. It can grow in the brightest rooms, behind the most charming smiles.

People often ask why children don’t speak up when their parents are abusing them. I have different questions. Why do we place responsibility on traumatized children to figure out that their own parents are unsafe? And what are we doing differently today than when I was a child?  

I will never know if I would have said that I needed help because no one ever asked. No one explained what “safe” actually meant. And because the rules in my house forbade me from making friends with my schoolmates, I had nothing to compare my life to. I genuinely believed every family operated the way mine did.

Sometimes I think people would understand my life more easily if my parents had locked me in a cage like in the movies. The truth is more complicated.

The walls that surrounded me were invisible. They were built slowly, skillfully, and so carefully that eventually they felt like walls I had built myself. They felt like home. They felt like love. And that is one of the cruelest parts.

My cage was crafted from secrets. There was what happened at home and then there was everything else and the two worlds were never allowed to meet.

My cage was built with threats. I was told that if anyone found out, I would be blamed.

And my cage was reinforced with rewards. I was told I was difficult to love, and that complete obedience was the only way to be worthy.

We tell children to talk to a “safe adult,” but we rarely explain what that means. To kids whose entire understanding of love has been distorted by the very people who are supposed to protect them, basic survival can feel like safety It took me years into adulthood to learn that “safe” is more than staying alive.

To me now, a safe adult is someone who doesn’t intentionally hurt you with their words or actions. Someone who tells the truth, even when it’s hard. Someone who invites questions instead of shutting them down. Someone who doesn’t demand loyalty in exchange for affection. Someone who doesn’t punish you for needing help.

This is something every one of us can do: we can be safe adults. For children, teens, and other adults. For each other. For those who are quietly suffering behind perfect grades, perfect manners, and perfect masks.

At the core of this crime is family and that is what makes it so complex. To break away from these relationships and insidious cycles of sexual abuse and exploitation is an enormous task under the best circumstances. To have to navigate that journey alone, as I and so many others have, because no one intervened when we were children is a task that no one should ever be faced with. 

I share this in hopes that it reaches someone who recognizes pieces of themselves in these words. Someone who feels incredibly alone. Someone who has been made to feel that their pain is their fault or their burden to hide.

It isn’t. 

The walls that confined me were not built by me. 
But I am learning — I can take them down.

Find more information about child sex trafficking here: https://www.missingkids.org/theissues/trafficking.

To report suspected child sex trafficking, including familial trafficking to the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children (NCMEC) visit the CyberTipline at CyberTipline.org or by calling 1-800-THE-LOST (1-800-843-5678).