As someone who was sexually trafficked, it devastates me to say that not a single school I attended ever addressed trauma, sexual abuse, or anything related to it. Throughout my entire childhood, I was suffering in silence. I was living in pure misery, being hurt in ways no child should ever experience. The person who was supposed to protect and care for me is the same person who trafficked and abused me.
Despite showing clear signs of trauma, no one in the school system stepped in. No teacher ever pulled me aside to ask if I was okay. No counselor ever checked in. No administrator took the time to notice the red flags. I went to school every day carrying unthinkable pain, and instead of being helped, I was ignored. Worse, I was bullied by other students because of how I acted, because of my unprocessed trauma. I was labeled as difficult or disruptive, when in reality, I was a child in survival mode.
To this day, I don’t know if any of the educators ever suspected something or chose to stay silent. But what I do know is that I was failed. The system looked the other way. It treated me like I didn’t matter.
I’m speaking out now because I’m not the only one. There are so many other survivors who are still being overlooked. We must force schools to confront the reality of trauma and abuse so that children like I once was are no longer ignored. Every student deserves to be seen, heard, and protected. That’s how we break the cycle.
I had the misfortune of attending grade school in one of the most corrupt school districts in North Texas. Despite being one of the wealthiest in the state, the school board repeatedly mismanaged funds and prioritized image over student success. We had to share textbooks in class while they poured millions into a new football stadium. The district also manipulated grade data to inflate performance and secure more state funding than it deserved. It wasn’t just dishonest, it was a deliberate scheme that harmed students like me while benefiting administrators, board members, and parents chasing prestige.
To make matters worse, the district I attended actively manipulated student grades to inflate performance numbers. This wasn’t just academic dishonesty, it was financial fraud. By boosting grades, the district secured more state funding than it rightfully deserved. That money should have gone to underfunded schools serving students who genuinely needed support. Instead, it went to scoreboard lights, cheap hotdogs, and ribbon cutting ceremonies.
We live in a world where appearance too often trumps merit, and sadly, that mindset has bled into public education. Falsified gradebooks and “no zero” policies don’t help students — they just pad stats for school boards and please parents obsessed with GPAs over genuine learning. I know this firsthand. Because of those policies, I wasn’t prepared for college. My first year at BYU-Idaho was brutal. I had no academic discipline because my high school trained me to expect inflated grades for incomplete work.
This isn’t just about my experience, it’s a systemic issue. When schools cheat, everyone loses in the following ways:
It drains public funds from honest districts and sends the message that gaming the system is more rewarding than integrity.
It sets students up for failure, especially when they enter college or the workforce unprepared.
It erodes trust in our public schools and fails the most vulnerable students who need the most help.
If we’re serious about fixing education in this country, we need to start with the basics: transparency, accountability, and audits. Every dollar counts, and every student deserves better than a system built on deception.
I’ve experienced situational homelessness more than a few times. Not because I’m incapable of succeeding but because I currently can’t pass a background check, and housing in California is expensive. Really expensive. You might be asking yourself, “Why should we vote for someone with a ‘bad background’?” I’ll tell you why.
I allegedly threatened my trafficker, a man who raped me, trafficked me, and abused people I care about deeply. He is a predator, a manipulator, and a danger to the life of everyone around him (especially those who speak out). He has made multiple attempts on my life. He once drowned me in an attempt to silence me. After everything he did to me and others, I reached a breaking point. I spoke out, loudly, because no one in C◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️ County, Texas, would listen. I didn’t handle it perfectly. I was angry, I was scared, and I was done being ignored.
That’s when the county charged me with harassment. Even after I disclosed my trafficking and abuse, they continued pushing forward with legal action, dragging it out, switching prosecutors, and delaying the process as if to keep me trapped. It feels like a punishment for speaking up about what happened to me.
To make matters worse, court paperwork was sent to a P.O. Box I hadn’t used since 2018. I never received it. Because I missed a hearing I didn’t know existed, a bench warrant was issued. That’s why I can’t pass a background check. The legal system didn’t take into account the trauma or the context. It just labeled me.
In Southern California, I’ve managed to get by renting rooms, but those situations have been far from safe or stable. Here’s what I’ve experienced:
First landlord: Controlling and disrespectful. I was evicted after trying to fix drywall damage left by a previous tenant and reorganizing the room. She insisted I leave everything exactly how I found it, including her daughter’s old clutter in the closet and on the dresser. D◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️, you need support, not more people to control.
Second landlord: Entered my space without permission, stole personal items including a promise ring I bought to keep me focused on someone I used to love (I’ve got someone else on my mind now), and altered our lease agreement. He even made copies of my car keys and tampered with my vehicle, stealing things I really valued. M◼️◼️, you’re taking advantage of people who are already vulnerable. You need to find better things to do.
Third Landlord: This housing situation pushed me over the edge. The landlord regularly drank to excess, invaded my privacy, insulted people I care about, ate my food, and refused to respect any boundaries. She used garden hose water in the freezer, sent inappropriate texts when intoxicated, and kept my $1,200 deposit even after admitting she couldn’t repay it. After I moved out, she filed court paperwork against me. S◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️, I needed safety and basic respect, not manipulation and chaos.
When I first spoke up about being trafficked, I was living in Texas. I reported what happened to officials in C◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️ County, and they did absolutely nothing with the information. No follow-up. No effort to check on other potential victims. Nothing. Instead of helping, they slandered me. They went as far as to warn people in the local school district that I was a danger, simply because I tried to check on someone I care deeply for. I begged a school administrator to let me take her to CPS for her safety and instead of supporting me, the sheriff on campus escorted me off the property. I’ll never forget that day. R◼️◼️ W◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️, you knew I was telling the truth. I saw it in your eyes. And you still turned your back on both of us. How do you sleep at night?
Since then, I’ve reached out to countless agencies to get support for the abuse I endured. It has been an exhausting and disheartening process. Most agencies either have no availability, offer no meaningful help, or refer you to yet another number that leads nowhere. For survivors like me, the system is broken. And when local and state systems fail this badly, the federal government has a duty to step in.
Trying to rebuild your life after surviving sex trafficking is one of the hardest things a person can go through. It takes everything out of you. But I’m not giving up. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure others don’t have to go through the hell I went through. We can do better as a country.
I reported my abuse in both California and Texas. Neither state took me seriously. In California, not only was I ignored, but a certain sheriff’s department attempted to entrap me by trying to hospitalize me for simply speaking out. In Texas, my reports were buried. No follow-up. No outreach. No justice. Just silence, and an attempt on my life (serious).
As a country, we have to do better than this. Survivors deserve to be heard, and our reports deserve to be taken seriously. It is beyond disheartening to finally speak out about what you’ve endured and be met with nothing in return.
Even worse, there are cities, counties, and agencies in this country that don’t just ignore sex trafficking, they enable it. Some even participate in it, under the guise of public service. That isn’t just corruption, it’s demonic. It’s immoral. It goes against everything this country is supposed to stand for. The STARK Act of 2030 exists to call that out, expose it, and hold every single person involved accountable. Enough silence. Enough coverups. Survivors deserve justice.