Why I Fight

By: Camilla Cloward Warning: Context can be triggering

I woke up screaming again. Same nightmares. Everynight. No different; his hands on me, then his hands on her as we both say “no.” I really don’t think he knew the meaning of the word. My name falls from her lips but I can’t move. I still wonder what was in those drinks that made it feel as though I was made of cement. Unable to move, to help her as she pleaded for me to come. It should have been me, I moved and now she was being abused, because of me. Maybe if I cared less about being cool I wouldn’t have invited the “cool boys” to my house that night, maybe I would have listened to that voice inside me that told me to put down the drink. My therapist tries to convince me otherwise, that it was his fault, not mine. I don’t know who to believe.

 I remember going to school the next day both of us being called sluts, sloppy seconds, no one believing that it wasn’t a choice. I had been abused before, but this time it was worse. This time I watched as my best friend was helpless and I could do nothing to stop it. We never talked about what happened. I only knew it was real from the nightmares that visited me every night. 

People don’t talk about abuse. Maybe if they did, I would have known that the event was just the beginning. Afterward you will find any way to drown yourself to forget by drinking endless amounts of caffeine to avoid sleep so you don’t have to relive it. I wish I knew that every time someone touches you, you  feel terrified. No longer able to hug your dad without fear, when he used to be your safety. When you live through abuse, you change from a girl into a woman way too fast. He didn’t just abuse me – he took my childhood. I would find escape through drugs and starving myself. I found if you are too hungry, too high , and too drunk, there isn’t much to think about, let alone care. Eventually I got abused again and I thought I realized my purpose – a woman's purpose: that we were just bodies to look at and play with, nothing more. When I looked in the mirror, at the skin and bones that I had become, all I felt was self-hate. I was worthless, empty, and alone. 

I didn’t know then that I would turn this pain into my biggest strength. I didn’t know then that there was hope and in a few years I would overcome this abuse. That I would vow to save every woman and child I could from feeling this way. I wish I knew that one day I would be strong, brave, and ready to fight. That a fire would light in me and I would realize my real purpose. It wasn’t to sit there and look pretty. It was to stand up and say no more. I realized I would be a voice for the voiceless, a light for the lightless, and one day bring kids home to safety. 

I didn’t know one day that I would be a public speaker that talks about ending child abuse, and, human trafficking, with the goal of going to countries to find the helpless and get them out. That I would have a goal to be an operator for Operation Underground Railroad. They have saved over 6,000 survivors, and arrested over 4,000 predators (Operation Underground Railroad, 2023).   That little girl would learn that she was not alone, and she wishes that she was, she wishes that there weren’t billions of women, children and boys out there with stories similar to her own. She wished that there weren’t over 180 million children and women stuck in human trafficking, going through abuse several times a day (Cloward, 2023). She wished that human trafficking wasn’t the number one growing criminal enterprise in the world and is a $150 billion industry (stated in podcast, link below).  I wish that little girl would know that it wasn’t her fault, and one day instead of hate when she looked in the mirror, she would feel pride.