Content Warning: This post contains descriptions of grooming techniques, child sexual exploitation, abuse, emotional manipulation, sexual assault, bullying, non-consensual sharing of explicit images, self-harm, and trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

Grooming often begins unnoticed, creeping into your life like a whisper you can’t quite identify. It is careful and calculating, expertly weaving through thoughts and emotions until it feels natural, even comforting. Predators manipulate and isolate young people emotionally, exploiting vulnerabilities without the child even realizing it.

My journey into trauma began in middle school when I was pressured to send nude images. Those images were shared without my permission, causing immense humiliation that followed me throughout my teenage years.

At just 13 years old, I faced an even darker experience. I was raped by the person who "took my virginity," locked in a room and forced to comply. A few months later, another man backed me into a corner in the desert and assaulted me. When I spoke out about these experiences, I faced bullying and ridicule. Friends dismissed my claims, insisting that it didn’t meet their narrow definitions of rape. This pushed me back into silence, forcing me to doubt my reality and avoid seeking help.

The trauma of being sexually exploited and bullied cracked something inside me, leading me to dissociate regularly and seek out dangerous situations to numb the pain—drugs, self-harm, starvation—anything to drown out the ache.

At 17, I was already lost and vulnerable. I had graduated from high school early at 16, feeling grown and mature, and I downloaded a dating app out of curiosity. That’s where I met him—a 24-year-old man who drew me in with deep, secretive conversations designed to make me feel special and important, like I was his safe place. I was struggling with a strained relationship with my dad, feeling trapped and longing for security. He exploited that longing, convincing me he was the only one who truly understood me.

But there were red flags—warning signs I ignored because they felt comforting rather than alarming. The love bombing was a huge red flag that I didn't recognize until I was much older. His manipulation was blatant, intertwining me in every part of his life from the very beginning, professing love within the first couple of days. This entire relationship unfolded in less than three months. The love bombing felt flattering; his jealousy made me feel wanted and protected; his overprotection seemed like devotion. When he threatened to commit suicide because I wanted to leave him, I mistook it for desperation born out of love rather than manipulation. I couldn’t see it for what it truly was.

​Looking back now, I recognize the control tactics he used—begging me to do things I wasn’t comfortable with, wielding guilt and emotional blackmail, threatening his own life if I didn’t comply. At the time, I believed these actions were proof of his love rather than manipulation. I didn't talk to anyone about it; I thought my experiences were typical because my dad was so much older than my mom. I now understand that talking to a much older person when you’re a teenager can be dangerous.

Exploitation tears you away from yourself. It disconnects you from everything you once knew to be true. Isolating the victim from their loved ones is common in abusive relationships. My dad noticed some signs and expressed concern; he became my lifeline in the end. I only took control when I was finally fed up, which doesn’t always happen quickly or even at all. That's why it's vital to recognize the warning signs of grooming early and have open access to what's happening in your child's life. This man isolated me from my family and made it uncomfortable for me to discuss my problems. Ultimately, my dad insisted I get a restraining order, which saved me.

Healing isn’t linear; it’s a mess of relapses and progress, breakthroughs and setbacks. It took years before I attempted to reclaim what had been stolen from me. I wish I could say my turning point came when I had my first child, but truthfully, feeling trapped in my first marriage led me back to my exploiter briefly, in search of the over-exuberant love I wasn’t getting anymore. Seeing him again made me realize that cutting him out completely was necessary.

In the last two years, I’ve started reclaiming my voice, my body, my sense of self. I work for Cyber Dive, and I’m finally living the dreams I once held: speaking about my experiences, working in spaces where exploitation happens to others, and using my voice to fight back.

Now, as a parent, I strive to be the kind of person I needed when I was young: someone who listens without judgment, reassures my kids that things will be okay, and notices subtle shifts that speak of pain or fear. I talk to my kids about safe people, how to spot signs of danger, and the importance of trusting their instincts. I encourage them to voice their feelings, no matter the situation. I emphasize that their experiences are valid and worth discussing. I want them to have the tools to recognize when something feels wrong and to feel safe in sharing it with me.

Even in darkness, there were moments when I attempted to speak up—I hinted at my pain and tried to explain my dissociation—but the reactions I received reinforced my silence. People around me couldn’t comprehend or accept what I had become: a broken shell of who I was before.

My story didn’t begin with a single act of violence; it began with the betrayal of my trust—my explicit photos shared with my entire school and the entire district. What could have helped before it went this far? Open conversations about consent, personal boundaries, and the importance of speaking out could have changed everything.

My story isn’t unique—it’s tragically woven through countless lives. But sharing it matters because if even one teenager recognizes their own situation through mine, perhaps they can avoid enduring what I did. I share this because parents need tools—to know what signs to watch for, to listen, and to be their children’s safe space.

I share this because I’m free now—and so can you be. Let’s break the silence and change the narrative.

What will you do to ensure your child feels safe and empowered to speak up?

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