The Ugly Truth About The Girl Next Door
The Ugly Truth About The Girl Next Door is a podcast that tells the story of a suburban, middle class girl who was trafficked and sexually exploited for decades starting even before the age of 6 years old
I never imagined myself as having a voice. Not really, not my own, anyway. I have plenty of voices in my head….their voices, their words, their threats. But I never thought I would hear or have my OWN voice. What does that even mean? What does it sound like? Would anyone listen to it?
They always said no one would. Were they right?
But, what if I test it out? What if I say the TRUTH, the whole truth and nothing but the truth—, in all its ugly glory, holding nothing back—, and see what happens? Would it help anyone else find THEIR voice? Would it scream to my abusers that I am not afraid of them anymore? Would the risk be worth it?
I wish I knew the answer to those questions but I think the only way to find out is to give it a try.
So, maybe my voice begins by saying this truth…
My name is Kait and I am a victim of Human Trafficking
It’s a tough pill to swallow…..for me AND you. If you met me in real life, you might think
“hang on, what?? You’re not from Cambodia…You’re not homeless, destitute and on drugs…how can this be true?”.
I know..…I get it. People hear the words HUMAN TRAFFICKING and immediately conjure up images of young women living in dirty brothels in third world countries, or people trapped in the back of a truck being transported across borders. You’re not wrong that those things happen too and sometimes that IS what it looks like…..but did you know that it can also look like the girl next door? The one in the suburban house who goes to school and church and dresses like everyone else? Did you know that it can happen literally anywhere and look like anyone?
I do. Because that was me. The girl next door, in the brown house, in the neighborhood with a park. I went to school and church and generally dressed like a regular kid.
Most people never looked close enough to see anything else.
If someone did look close enough, there was A LOT that wasn’t typical, let alone normal or fine.
The people that did notice, and did ask questions or express concern, their questions were quickly met with lies and cover up stories.
For as far back as my memory goes, I have only been worth as much as my body could please men.
Men who abused me.
Men who paid for me.
Men who paid for pictures of me.
I was worth more if I could do exactly what they asked…or be precisely what they desired.
These men weren’t homeless or drug users. They weren’t what you might imagine. They didn’t look like America’s Most Wanted or even run- of- the- mill criminals.
The opposite actually.
They were often affluent, wealthy, men of the community. They were home builders and bankers, business owners and, maybe worst of all, pastors. They came from all walks of life, all ages and races.
As many different types of men as there were, they all had equally different needs and desires.
They paid for different experiences, and different pictures.
Some wanted tears and screaming, some wanted me to “enjoy it”, some wanted to be authoritative over me and some didn’t want me to make a single sound. They did all have one thing in common:
They desired to hurt and harm a young child…And they enjoyed it.
The places the abuse happened also didn’t look like what you might imagine. There weren’t dungeons, storage units, or dark alleys. It happened in people’s homes. In my home. In their homes. It happened at businesses, in basements, in hotel rooms and maybe most of all, in the church. There are smells, feelings, and sounds from each of those places that my brain will never be able to erase.
I have tried.
I had two different worlds. Each world existed in a separate box in my mind.
One world where men used and abused me
Another as a normal kid.
One dark and dirty.
The other bright(er) and seemingly innocent.
When I lived in the bright(er) world, I was actually a (kinda) normal kid..…on the surface anyway. In that world, I went to school and I had a few friends. I was in a chorus and band, and my grades were average.
In the dark world, some days after school, men would purchase time with me and hurt me in indescribable ways.
In the bright(er) world, I played outside and I played with barbies, American Girl Dolls and horses.
In the dirty world, men played with me and told me to stay quiet.
In the bright(er) world, I wore a lot of pink and purple and usually got to dress myself. I had a birthday dress I wore right out because I loved it so much.
In the dark world, men dressed me in outfits for grown women, in things that excited them.
Both of my worlds were real. Both were happening simultaneously. But each lived in its own box in my mind. They could not coexist at the same moment or time in space or else I’d break…or worse…maybe tell. So they each had a box….a box that closed and sealed until next time it was opened.
There were times throughout my life when the boxes would start to collide….start to crack open just a bit….it was in these times that an escape attempt seemed reasonable and rational….but every time I tried to tell, tried to get out, tried to get help….the floor eventually dropped out. The escape attempt failed and I was down deeper in the abuse than I had been before.
School teachers, church leaders, and many more people throughout my life tried to help….but each and every time, the lies from my abusers were too strong. The systems failed and I was left to deal with the fallout. When your parents are the ones that are trafficking you….where do you turn for help and protection?
Telling my story now is yet another escape attempt in a way. After decades of abuse and threats, it is well past time for it to end… with the support of my husband, In-laws, and the many supporters who have listened to the podcast…maybe somewhere along the way on my journey, someone else will hear my story and find their own successful escape attempt. Maybe somehow telling my story will educate and help others be more aware and ABLE to help someone else.
And if that is true … then this will all have been worth it to tell.