Discovering My Survivorship

Holy smoke balls!! Nothing makes my heart heavier than talking about childhood trauma... ughhhh. And, on the same token, nothing lights it up more either. 

A few years ago after setting out to hard core change my life, I was driving listening to God music on the radio la la la. Then, all of a sudden this commercial came on for a human trafficking event taking place in Fremont, CA. It felt as if the car had stopped moving, time stood still, and I just had this wild knowing that I needed to be there. I was drawn to it. 

So, I showed up alone and nervous, yet comforted with the knowing that I had a mission to be there. I ran into my mom's churchy friends and tried to escape their presence eeeeek. They might know how weird it is I am here alone! I gave myself a tour around all the booth tables searching for something inspiring, trying to find the reason I had been drawn there. I wanted to volunteer. I ran into the MISSSEY table which stands for Motivating, Inspiring, Serving, and Supporting Sexually Exploited Youth. I got hooked up with them & stayed active for a couple years. Now looking back, all these little puzzles pieces are falling into place and making sense. Because of that involvement, I was a runner up for many many scholarships and awards. 

A few years later, here I am having my world rocked. With each training sesion and experience I receive deeper healing. I’ve come to find out that my childhood experiences fall under the definition of being commercially sexually exploited as a child. Luckily for me, my family, as dysfunctional and twisted as they are, loved me enough AND HAD THE RESOURCES to lock me up in Mexico for over a year to save my life. I was never put out on the streets and sold, but it was very very close. Anyone of the ADULT drug dealers or gang bangers exploiting me could have put me to work on the streets… instead they exploited me in their own homes. Commercial is defined as the transaction of anything worth value. For me it was food, shelter including harboring from the abuse in my home, black mail, threats, protection, drugs, and rape. I was just a little girl. I was scared and alone. Fast forwarding... no wonder I was auspiciously drawn to those human trafficking conferences with my tail between my legs feeling so confused. I was placed right where I needed to be to discover my truth, to find the parts of me unhealed, and to make something beautiful of it all. 

What happens to runaway little girls? Even if they are lucky enough to escape the vicious cycle of abuse one day? What kind of life can they lead if their growing years were tainted with trauma and the world they were introduced to proved to be unsafe? What kind of struggles could you imagine they face? What kind of jobs will they acquire as an adult? What becomes of their sexuality & self-esteem? DO THEY EVEN HAVE A CHANCE?

All questions, my life has answered.

The ones lucky enough to survive stumbling along the way, have the obligation to keep healing so that they may stand up for all the others not so lucky.

The Gift of Desperation

Desperation. One of the most wonderful gifts we can receive. We cannot muster it up, or fake it. We can only wish for it silently. Desperation paves the way for surrender which paves the way for a miracle... a shift in our existence, world view, bodily sensations, & heart.

I have so much to say, so much to write, so much to express, but I just want to be concise about this pressing fire in my heart right now.

Recently, I was on a mission to discover my sexuality and ethical boundaries as far as "sex work." All of this inspired by a class I took at UC Berkeley on sexual cultures. It made me feel like sex work might be ok for me again, maybe even a savior for a single mom with dreams of financial independence off welfare, travel, and surf adventures! I knew it may all be a big mistake, but I am a seeker and ground breaker so I figured to thine own self be true- go for it Robin. I wanted to know how I truly felt about it after all these years being out of the life. I craved to know. I dreamt about it many times and felt the rush of adrenaline I always got to step foot on stage or on camera. I craved validation from men & a sense of belonging. -That's the main question- where do I belong in this world? Long story short- I fell on my face spiritually, literally with a concussion, & financially. I found myself homeless and on emergency welfare sleeping on my girl's floor and clothes piled in my car. I felt so alone and desperate and hopeless when renter after renter told my daughter and I NO. I sat in the parking lot of a religious science church and just wept to my best friend on the phone while my daughter sat in the back seat full of life and hope. GOD HELP US!!!! I would cry.

One morning, I woke up and literally sat straight up as my heart told me to look for a job. Immediately this yoga dude texted me, and I told him of my new inspiration. He just so happened to be an expert on non-profit work & sent me some links. I started searching and searching for some job listing to make me excited. How can I work a "normal" job if it's uninspiring. F that. I began to feel defeated as I ferociously sifted through ad after ad of bunk jobs. Finally, I thought to contact the people I used to to human trafficking work with and more specifically a woman I connected with at a MISSSEY Gala I helped with. BOOM! The magic began...

I spoke on the phone to the founder of an organization called Runaway Girl; how perfect, I am a runaway girl. I felt vulnerable on the phone with her and embarrassed I had gone back to adult biz work. I felt hopeless at one point on the phone when it sounded like she couldn't help me find work because I still had one foot in web camming & I almost hung up the phone. Some strong part deep inside me refused to give up, refused to hang up, so I sat through the pain of that moment. Eventually she said these words that pierced me... "You know, you don't ever have to do that kind of work again if you don't want to. You're daughter will be ok. You will be ok." Well golly jeepers... that had never accrued to me in the last 6 months. I didn't have to do it? No, you don't understand. I do have to do it, I thought. I came back to America graduated, off financial aid, off welfare, and $1100 in debt not to mention my old DUI repercussions. But in that instance, the thought and possiblilty flashed to me that maybe I had been deceiving myself out of fear. How do I really feel? I felt helpless, beaten, down for the count, abandoned by my family again, failure as a provider, dirty, alone, panicked. I decided... OK. I surrender. I surrender to this woman's faith that I will be provided for and something will help me. I fucking surrender. My way never works. I can't even find a job or a house or gas at times. I can't save, I can't show up when I am hung over and depressed, I can't be the woman I want to be in my friends & families lives because I am stuck in survival mode. This is the cycle of my life that I repeat over and over. Success scares me so bad that I go back to the 13 year old little girl who fights to survive at all costs. She will stoop to any level she needs to to get her needs met and to escape injustice and harm. It's what I do.

I was inspired to show up at a human trafficking event last Tuesday morning. With my tail between my legs I asked the father who's giving me silent treatment to watch my daughter so I could go. The simple act of me waking up early humble and hopeful provided a platform for me to choose to step into my greatness and remember who I am and all the work I have done to heal and heal others. I was treated as a colleague and survivor expert at this conference. I received gifts and took pictures and laughed with other girls like me so hard! I felt a deep sense of belonging. I even spoke on the panel briefly on my research at Cal (in front of hundreds of people). As my heart raced and dizziness hit my brain, I remembered who I am underneath the fear. I am a warrior! I step up to any plate & I fight whether it's for me, my blood, or my sisters. I am the brave one. Tears well up in my eyes when I type that because I know it's true.

I left that conference in awe, $150 check, 2 job offers, gifts, new friends, and most importantly HOPE.

 I got paid to show up and shine. Something that was said that broke me down was when the speaker and president of Not For Sale said something about women in amsterdamn discovering they too were not for sale. It made me think, wait a minute.... sexual adventures is one thing, but do I really want to be for sale? For today my answer is NO. I don't like the way people have been treating me or how I have been stretching my boundaries to accommodate stigma and unspoken protocols. I don't truly want to be for sale when I think about what that means because what is inside me is so much deeper then what the eyes can see and the body feel. This is a long journey; I may get scared again and go back. I may think I can have that money again innocently, but this lil experiment I have done has led me to desperation... no accidents, no regrets because as always, I am brought back to Truth with a deeper understanding, a deeper experience of joy. Miracles. My life is miraculous. Just wait until I tell you whats brewing this week!!

Trikonasana

I wish I were an everyday writer. I have been writing all my life, but the magic of story telling only comes to me during a pivotal point in my life or revelations. There’s something magical about the fire that burns in the bottom of my heart when I decide to write about what I feel. Maybe it’s a gift. Maybe my sensitivity and openness is a curse. Maybe it will save someone’s quality of life. Maybe it’s saving my own.

I received a hateful message this morning on Facebook from a younger cousin who has anger and alcohol problems. I should be used to the whole slut shaming and virgin/whore dichotomy by now… but for whatever reason it stung like 10,000 be stings into my intestines this morning upon awakening. My body began to tremble and my heart race with fear. I was triggered. That life threatening, survival instinct had kicked in. He talked about the well being of my child. My child, the only reason I have life at all right now. The very thing that pulled me from the gates of hell, and gave me the inspiration to fight mental illness, addiction, failure, and trauma, was my child. Is my child, I should say. I still fight these things, but I am WINNING.

Later this morning, I bowed into myself on my yoga mat in a class of thirty people or more. I have not been practicing much lately because I have been running from my fear so fast I haven’t been sleeping well or breathing well. So to finally get on my mat and be fully willing to surrender my things to do list, my anxiety about money, my fears of failure and inadequacies, was a relief.  I dropped into my breath over and over trying to let go of fearful or anxious thoughts… and then it happened. As I closed my eyes and gracefully leaned in & opened up into trikonasana (triangle pose) my heart metaphorically ripped right open to the ceiling. Tears trickled down the side of my face and onto the floor. There I was, shinning brightly, beautifully, radiantly , and I knew it! This is who I am. I am never the things I fear or what people have told me. When you are graced with that glimpse of who you are, the moment that can barely be described with words, the only option in to weep at the revelation of your own power and beauty. I’ve been running from my beauty and running from my power because it’s frightening. Frightening to think, I might just experience even greater love, even greater success. I might just fuckin pull it off again this whole “after college thing.” The fear that I will be abandoned by everyone I love if I truly fill my life with what I love and desire. The fear that if I don’t have another degree or save some children in Africa, that I’ll disappoint everyone who has cheered me on.

I am so scared, but as I stepped back like an acrobatic dancer into down dog & whipped myself back upside down into wild thing… I almost yelled out loud as I said in my head with my eyes closes, “THIS IS MY BODY. THIS IS MYYYYYYY BODY. THIS IS MINE!!!!! THIS IS MY LIFE. THIS IS MY HEART! THIS IS MINEEEEEEEE!!!!!” But, I just whispered it to myself. This is the yoga. It never fails. Somatic therapy. Connection to something greater. Tapping into power.

I have so much more to say on what was said in that message & my experience of female objectification and parenting, but I am really excited about organizing my room right now and shaking my ass to some dub step. … until next time.