Thank you for having me today. I'm here to talk to you about my lived experience with human trafficking.
I was born to teenage parents, and growing up with parents who are still growing up themselves comes with its own form of challenges. Up until my parents divorced, I was a good student who, for the most part, kept out of trouble. Once my parents split, the tides changed. I went into grade 4 at a new school with a teacher who made a point to pick on me. I was also now competing for my parents' attention with their dating lives.
I ended up living with my mother and stepfather, and it didn't seem to matter what I did; I was always labelled as wrong and a liar. The more I acted out, the less anyone seemed to care. After some time, I got what I wanted and I moved in with my father, but he had already moved on to have more children and a new marriage. My rebellious pattern of behaviour was not welcome in his home.
After some time, I moved in with my grandmother and went to a new high school in the city. In that first week of high school, I met a group of girls. At the beginning, I was mocked for being the least experienced in the group. I started experimenting with drugs, and about a week into school, I was already skipping all of my classes. My new-found friends would brag about their initiation into gangs. They introduced me to drugs, smoking and alcohol abuse. We weren't just partying on weekends; it was every day.
One fall day, it all came to a screeching halt. I'll never forget the first time I was trafficked. Some of my friends picked me up at my house on a Saturday morning. Immediately after, I threw up and I was met with mockery. As time went on, I accepted my new fate and one day, when I was sitting with a few girls, there were a bunch of drugs and a gun on the table in front of me. One of the girls picked up the gun and pointed it at my head and asked if I thought anybody would care if I died, because now I was just a prostitute.
That Christmas, I woke up in a drug house to people banging on the door looking for their fix. The next few months were a blur. I was addicted to drugs and constantly on the move. The last weekend I was trafficked, I was beaten pretty badly, but I was put back to work. Not one person cared that I had two black eyes and a broken nose, or that my lips were so swollen and bruised that I couldn't close my mouth. I was no longer seen as a person. I was just a shell.
The next time I went home to get cleaned up, there were police officers and a social worker waiting to take me to a group home. At that moment, I didn't feel like I was being saved. I was terrified. I was going out of the city and only the staff knew my history. I got a fresh start, with rules, stability and people who cared about me, and then I thrived.
Years later, I learned that not only the group home, but my family was told that I was involved in prostitution. I was groomed to believe that I was making a choice at 14 years old. There was no justice. I didn't get to take action with the people who sold me or the people who bought me. I wasn't really given an option and I didn't feel protected.
I am one of the lucky ones who can stand before you now and tell you that my life couldn't be more different. I survived. It took me years to reconcile the fact that I was trafficked. Those years of self-discovery were wrapped in trauma, but I found my worth and I am now a mother of two beautiful daughters. As much as it is my job to fiercely protect them, I wonder whose job it is to protect the girls like me, who were lost without anyone to advocate for them.
Our lives our valuable. I very strongly feel like none of us would put our money in the bank without a security system, so why would you allow our lives to be stolen from us without repercussions?
I guess I didn't fill my five minutes.