Friday, April 5, 2013

Ten Confessions of a Sex Slave

Confession #1
 I was a sex slave.

I served as a sex slave in my own home from the time I could remember until I was 19 years old. I had only one customer: my mother’s husband. He had two other sex slaves under our roof—three, if you count my mother. He also had another sex slave who didn’t live with us. That child was a sex slave, and she had two customers: my mother’s husband and the man who lived next door to her. He and his wife would babysit her when her mother went out of town.

Confession #2 
My theology was seriously jacked.

My mother and her husband took us to church and baptized us by immersion in their hypocritical worldview. This included unquestioning submission to a patriarchal authority, strict adherence to the rules and regulations of the subculture, and an arrogant superiority to those who did not serve Jesus. It also included merciless and relentless pedophilia. You can imagine how hard it was to sift through the sacred and the insane.

Confession #3
Not only was I the most inauthentic, fake, and phony “Christian” you could ever meet, I was the most inauthentic, fake and phony human being you could ever meet.

Secrecy was part of my DNA. Protecting my customer was my #1 job. (Well, maybe that was my #2 job.) Perish the thought of subjecting myself to the embarrassment of ever coming clean with the most humiliating events of my life. It wasn’t going to happen. Whom would I tell? My kindergarten teacher? My first grade teacher? My fourth grade teacher? My eighth grade teacher? Tenth grade? Twelfth grade? My Sunday school teacher? My youth leader? My pastor? Those people were all “normal”, and the people I knew at church were all “walking in victory”. I wanted to be normal and walk in victory too. The biggest sucker who fell hook, line, and sinker for all my lies… was myself.

Confession #4
I was genuinely the most arrogant, condescending sarcastic little sass who never passed up an opportunity to engage with anyone who had different beliefs than what I was taught at my church.

This is harder to admit than the fact that I was a sex slave. It hurts more. It is the most shameful thing I’ve ever done and still cringe when I think about what I used to be. But here was my thinking: I didn’t have to be nice… because I was right. I didn’t have to be polite and caring or remember my manners because God was on my side. I was armed with my effed up theology and a Bible so big it could knock the tracks clean off a tank. Anyone who didn’t sign off on the teachings of my church was going to Hell, and it was my responsibility to make sure they at least heard the “truth”, even if the delivery was hostile. If I was going to be “held accountable” on the Day of Judgment then, by God, so was everybody else.

Confession #5
Being like that is the single most miserable burden I carry to this day.

Confession #6
It secretly pissed me off that God would withhold His forgiveness of my sins unless I continually and repeatedly forgave my customer while concurrently ignoring my pleas to be released from my bondage.

This doctrinal tidbit was dangled in front of me like a carrot on a stick. I never could quite fully provide that forgiveness, probably because my customer used me up faster than I could keep up. As a result, I always felt like I was standing on the precipice of Hell ready to fall into the fiery darkness for all eternity if I suddenly died or Jesus came back while I was still in my state of unforgiveness. I was betting it would be just like God to send Jesus back during one of those spells. Furthermore, the fact that my prayers for safety bounced straight off the ceiling (or at least pinged off the free will of my customer) caused a distrust of God so deeply embedded in me that I figured God was either too weak or too cruel to rescue me.

Confession #7
I said the F-word… a LOT!

I think that’s pretty self-explanatory.

Confession #8
I had to get brutally honest. It was ugly.

I was honestly one shattered, pissed off little girl and had to have a meltdown of Biblical proportions before I could grasp even a shred of hope for my recovery. Shortly thereafter it occurred to me how much work was going to be involved to overcome my childhood and live a healthy life, and this did not raise my opinion of the ask-and-you-shall-receive-automated-miracle-worker god of my childhood. I'd always been taught that you "leave your troubles at the altar". I had to get to know a whole other God—the real One.

Confession #9
I think that the church preaches only half the gospel a lot of the time.

You’ve heard this song:

Jesus paid it all
All to Him I owe
Sin had left a crimson stain
He washed it white as snow

Before I was transformed by the renewing of my mind, I always sang these words thinking only that Jesus was broken and died for my sins. I owe Him because He paid my debt. My sin had left me stained, tainted, dirty… but He washed me white as snow. This is all true.

However, now when I sing those words, I think that Jesus was broken and died for the sins that were committed against me as well. I owe Him because he removed the sins that were not mine and made it impossible for those awful memories from ever making my life miserable again. I’m no longer a slave to my customer or to my own unhealthy dysfunction. I owe Him because He provided my freedom. My customer’s sins had left me stained, tainted, dirty… but He washed me white as snow. This is also true. This is the other half of the gospel, the good news. In fact, that’s great news. 

Confession #10
I’m not precisely interested now in picking a fight with evil, but I’ll be damned if I will ever back down from stealing back the beautiful souls of those who are lost in the kind of sin to which I was a slave for so many lonely years.

It’s not that I’m without fear as I step into the ring with this kind of evil, but I didn’t start this fight. Evil crawled into my bed for 19 years, and you know what? I’ve had it. I’ve had enough heartache and humiliation for my life. God is restoring the years of my life that the “locusts” have eaten away. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit by and not share in the suffering of those still haunted and still enslaved to the sins of their pasts. Even with full knowledge that I could get hurt, I could still suffer, and I could lose everything; despite it all, some days I just want to stand up in the face of evil, point my finger in its revolting face and warn through clenched teeth, “You are so FUCKED right now! You know why? Because I’m free, and God is with me! I’ll be taking those poor souls clenched in your filthy grip because they don’t belong to you—you’re a thief! They belong to God, and you know it. Release them right now, you mother FUCKER!”

Stand in judgment of me for the language all you want, but I must confess that that is exactly the emotion I harbor against this insidiousness. (And, really, are people more vexed by the fact that I still drop the F-bomb or the fact that children are still being used for sex?) I never set out to be a scrapper. I can’t stand the battle. I don’t want to fight. I want to cuddle. But there’s work to be done, and the laborers are few, and none of this is easy. I’m praying for laborers. For partners. For contenders. I’m praying for those who are sex slaves, right now as we speak, to throw fits and get honest and surrender to a God they will discover is actually tender and loving and do the hard work that needs to happen for healing to occur. I’m praying for people to truly be walking in victory—not pretending like I did for so many years. I’m praying for the demise of evil and the annihilation of child sex slavery around the globe and in this country and in our churches and in our homes.

I am in it to win it.

* Daisy Rain Martin is the Author of Juxtaposed: Finding Sanctuary on the Outside, a comedic spiritual memoir. Please connect with Daisy on Facebook/Twitter and visit her website: If you have ever been the victim of abuse, contact her to receive her free book, If It's Happened to You.