I never imagined I would share my story like this. I have opened up about bits and pieces over the years, but for most of my life I have worked hard to hide the parts of my life that have wounded me so deeply. Then I had a realization. Many of YOU are hurting and hiding as well. If you are someone who feels silenced by your shame or as though you are unseen and unheard, please know that there are compassionate people who will see and hear you. I will see and hear you, and I stand ready to help you find others who will see and hear you. But far more importantly than that, the God who created you sees and hears you. Let that truth give you hope and courage.

Dear Reader,

I have one thing to ask as you read my words. I won’t tell you what to think, what to believe, or what to do. I would like to ask that you would please give me the opportunity to share my own story and answer your questions for myself.  Thank you for giving me this opportunity.

I was the victim of sexual abuse starting as a young child, and for many years I also experienced sex trafficking and satanic ritual abuse from people in my life whom I trusted.  Many people are unfamiliar with this type of abuse. I plan to explain more in future posts.

I can’t tell you exactly when it started because I was too young to remember. As far back as I can remember, I was taught that I am only worth as much as my body could give pleasure to those who paid for it.

The type of men who abused and trafficked me were not what you’d probably think. If you knew them, you’d probably never believe what they were doing behind closed doors. Many were affluent, wealthy men… including pastors, doctors, policemen, and even politicians.

I was told to never tell because no one would believe me. They said that if I told, I would face terrible consequences.

The first time I tried to tell someone that I was being abused was when I was five years old. One of the men who was abusing me explained away my accusation by claiming that he had “fallen asleep and the porn channel must have turned on.” The truth was he was filming his own child porn… using me and other children against our will for his wicked purposes.

When I talked, I broke the rule… I told the truth. And I paid for that. Horribly.

A lot of my abuse took place inside of churches and involved many pastors and other spiritual leaders. The unbiblical teaching of Bill Gothard, whom my church followed religiously, was the perfect tool to silence the vulnerable. I was convinced I had no rights and no choice but to submit to the authority of my pastors… an authority they used to coerce me into compliance with their twisted and sinful desires. I was programmed to believe I would be sinning and would go to hell if I refused to blindly follow their demands. I was terrified of them, but even worse, they made me terrified of God. This is how programming works.

The religious aspect of my abuse was also a cover for a much darker evil, as there were many occult practices going on just under the surface. Now as an adult, I’m convinced most of the people in the church did not know all that was really going on right under their noses. Sadly, however, the unbiblical teaching within the church provided a perfect environment for abuse to flourish. Scripture was often twisted and weaponized during the abuse. The pursuit of power and the use of satanic rituals as a means to obtain it were among the darkest aspects of the abuse I experienced.

By high school I had worked up enough courage to tell again. In fact, I tried several more times. Each time was a fail. I never seemed to be able to do it well enough or clear enough. I was labeled as dramatic, attention seeking, and even a liar. When there seemed to be no help anywhere for me, I tried to kill myself several times as a child and teen, hoping death might be kinder to me than life. Each failed attempt to disclose the abuse just added a deeper sense of shame and feelings of powerlessness. It also brought more punishments, making life increasingly unbearable. 

I learned to escape into a world inside my own head where it felt safe and peaceful. This is where I went when abuse would happen.

My details of the abuse I suffered varied as much as the demands of the men paying for it. Regardless of how the abuse morphed and changed throughout my life, it continued in some capacity all the way until 2023. The majority of the time as a child, abuse happened within 40 miles of my home in Chicago, but sometimes I was taken into neighboring states. This was especially true from age ten to fifteen.

When I was about twenty-two years old, I made my first official police report, but only sharing a small part of the story. Several months later I added more information to that initial report, but I was still only sharing a very small percentage of what had actually happened. My past experiences with not being believed and the repercussions that followed had made me wary.

As an adult, my circumstances finally caused me to move a few hours away from the place where I grew up. At that time, I cut ties with nearly everyone from my past. That was supposed to be the solution. It even seemed like it had worked for a while. However, the abuse resumed despite all my efforts to escape it. I realized that the network of traffickers and abusers who had been victimizing me and others reached farther than I had known. Because of how I had been programmed, their control over me was not something I was able to fully understand or explain. I had been conditioned and programmed for this type of involuntary sex since I was a very young child, and my brain would respond in ways that appeared confusing or abnormal to others who had not been programmed and who didn’t have any experience dealing with the specific type of abuse that was happening to me.

How could I expect others to understand why I always left my car unlocked? Or why the blood vessels around my eyes kept bursting, leaving me with black eyes that even makeup couldn’t cover up? How could I make anyone truly understand why I would spend hours and hours sitting in my car? And how could I ever make anyone understand why I couldn’t always remember the details of what had happened? I kept things hidden, not because I wanted the abuse, but because I knew if I ever truly got help, I would endanger myself and the person helping me. I knew from experience that telling too much would make things far worse. Fear caused me to hide things, lie to cover up reality, and respond in ways that appeared strange or dramatic to the people around me. Out of fear, I made sure no one knew the full, real truth.

In future posts, I will do my best to explain how my abusers kept me trapped and how that has affected the way I responded to others who genuinely tried to help me.

I sometimes tried to share partial details about what was happening in an attempt to get the help I needed in a safer way. Telling someone everything felt too dangerous, but at the same time I needed help. The logical decision was to only share part of the story… or a twisted version of the truth, enough to seek help, but not so much as to make things worse. I worked hard to control and balance everything.

Thankfully, there came an end to my abuse. There was a horrific season of abuse leading up to my freedom, but then God ultimately used the events of that final month to bring me freedom from the wicked people who had controlled so much of my life. I will talk more in a future post about the details of the events that lead to the end of my former life of being the victim of abuse.

Ultimately, God is the One who set me free. He brought the right people into my life at the right time: several people from law enforcement who believed me, a lawyer who has continually supported me and shown me fatherly love, and a small army of close friends who have stood by me and shown me the courage and love of Christ.

Through all of this, God has been doing a good work of untwisting the misapplied scriptures that had been wickedly distorted, weaponized and used against me and the Lord has given me genuine healing through His Word. His near presence and His good representatives that He brought into my life have helped me to see who the True Lord Jesus is and how He is so different from the false Jesus I was taught growing up.

This process is still ongoing and in future posts I will want to share the joys of growing in the Lord and the truth that has set me free.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Regardless of your response to my words, I am truly grateful for an opportunity to share. You might be wondering if there is any proof to support my claims. Although I will not be publicly sharing the evidence, I want to assure you that the evidence exists and, if necessary, can be verified by those who have seen it. There are multiple medical documents and various other forms of evidence, as well as corroborating testimonies from both witnesses and other victims who can testify that I am telling the truth.

Thank you again.

– K.