By Gloria Masters
[Trigger Warning: This article contains descriptions of child sexual abuse and trafficking. Please take care.]
Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl born into a loving family. Her name was Gloria.
Unfortunately, that’s a lie. It certainly was not my story.
I never had a childhood, as the first sixteen years of my life I was sexually abused and trafficked by my father, so having fun was unavailable to me. Survival was more my focus. Saying ‘It is a miracle I am alive’, is understating it. I am very lucky to be here.
I have been told many times that not many could have survived what I did, and though it is meant respectfully, the reality is it should never have happened in the first place.
I was born into a large catholic family, the youngest child to parents who should never have been afforded that privilege. Right from the start life was full of neglect, trauma, and abuse, with no one willing or able to help me.
I was a sunny child, filled with optimism and hope. I was noisy, inquisitive, and constantly exploring the world around me, except when my father was nearby, and then I became someone else entirely: quiet, withdrawn, and scared.
My mother was never once interested in protecting me, rather self-interest was her only focus. She was just relieved he would want to take me off somewhere else, out of her sight.
To say it was a toxic environment is undermining, it was pure, unadulterated hell, and I didn’t know what that even meant until I heard a description in class one day from one of the nuns at school. I almost put my hand up to ask if hell was also here, but decided against it.
Initially up until 4 years of age, the abuse was limited to my father, but he realized he could make loads of money out of me should he lease me out to extended family and friends. They were all big and scary, and I had learned that men were strong and powerful and not to be trusted.
I at least had the relief of knowing I was physically safe with women, or so I thought…
My father decided the best way for me to learn how to please men was from a woman, so he involved my grandmother who was paid to teach me how to turn, move, and use my body to appear sexy and appealing for the men. “They are very important men, and they must be made to feel special”, she would instruct.
Although I was traumatized beyond belief, there was something deep within me that wouldn’t let me give up. I always saw the light, I always held a semblance of hope, based on nothing but desperation. I knew if I could just get through this training, I would be able to cope with the rest of the day.
What followed was a deep sadness and resignation to my fate, as though the physical and sexual abuse was hard, the emotional trauma was what threw me into a pit so deep I almost couldn’t find a way out, but somehow I would find something to focus on that changed my thinking. It might be the possibility of ice-cream I would get if the men were happy after they had paid to abuse me.
As the days and weeks passed, more and more people would appear, and the word spread. I was six years old, very small and thin and looked younger than I was. This seemed to hold more appeal to the pedophiles and meant my father could charge more.
He had other groups he belonged to and as the demand for my services grew, so did the venues he trafficked me to. I struggled to cope and became anxious and frightened at the sound of any footsteps or men’s voices.
Again, I went inwards, I would look for signs in the sky, look up at the clouds and make shapes and hold some hope in my heart that life would change for me, ‘Please get me out of here,’ or, ‘Make it stop’ I would pray, and eventually it would.
My mother was usually never home, so I saw her less and less, and it was therefore no surprise the day they said they were separating. Without any real discussion, I got left in the family home with my father and brother.
The hell I had known living with both parents was safe and secure compared to the flaming inferno I was cast into living with them.
I was now freely and fully exploited from home and trafficked to wherever it took my father’s fancy. He seemed to have a never-ending supply of willing pedophiles to sell me to. It wasn’t unusual for me to be ripped roughly out of bed, thrown into the van, and taken to a group somewhere in Auckland (New Zealand), who would pay him for the privilege of hurting his youngest child.
Me.
How did I get through this? I went inwards. Outwards was not safe for me. I had no one living who cared, and secrets needed to be kept. From deep within me, I found a source of light and love that I could call on when needed. This was something I had discovered they could not break, my mind, so I tapped into that and knew if I just focused on this time and this place, it would end, and I could be safe again. That’s what I told myself anyway, and it seemed to help.
There was to be a twist in the story, one I believe saved my life. I had been with my father 18 months the day it happened.
I arrived home from school earlier than expected to see his van in the drive and sounds of laughter coming from his bedroom. I cautiously crept down the hallway and saw him in bed with another woman.
Consequently, I was removed from his home as the Catholic Church declared, “It’s not right for her to be living there with an adulterer”.
(It was to be years later when I began to wonder why it was deemed safe for me to be savagely beaten and raped, let alone trafficked to groups of men).
Miracles upon miracles, I was so excited, I was so relieved and thrilled to be out of the dungeon and prison I had been trapped in!
Until my mother casually informed me, that though I couldn’t live with him anymore, I would still have to go every second weekend and half of school holidays.
They had agreed I keep seeing my father until I turned 16. Once that magical day appeared, I never had to willingly see him again. So I didn’t.
The story is not in the events that took place but in the absolute power of my mind and the fact it was the one thing that could never be destroyed.
I was always surrounded by Angels, and I clung onto their presence with every fiber of my being, though they didn’t realize it they gave me hope, and that was the one thing I needed above all else. Hope to make it through this day and the next so I could survive and live my life.
Although it has taken me decades to recover and heal, that is what I did, and as a result I am able to give back. One day at a time, one person at a time. But through it all I feel nothing but gratitude.
Why?
Because had I not suffered and gone through the depths too many times to count, I would not be the person I am today, with enough empathy and understanding to help change the world we survivors must traverse every day of our lives.
For those who are also survivors, you are not alone. For help and resource go to my dedicated foundation called handingtheshameback.org or rainn.org. For books on supporting survivors: go to gloriamasters.com/shop or handingtheshambeback.org/resources. If you wish to join a survivor community, subscribe to our Youtube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/@handingtheshameback.
Gloria Masters is an author, speaker, and the woman behind the Global Hand Signal for Under 16’s, released in June, to resource and protect children from abuse and trafficking. She is also the founder of Handing the Shame Back foundation, a charity dedicated to adult survivors of child sexual abuse. She is the host of the YouTube and podcast channel of the same name, presenting interviews and resources designed exclusively for survivors. Gloria has written 3 books: Her memoir ‘On Angels Wings’; ‘Flightpath to Healing’, an experiential guide for survivors to use; and ‘Keeping kids Safe‘, a roadmap for parents & teachers on how to keep kids safe from grooming and sexual abuse. She believes that all things are possible. Her purpose in life is to help others, by shining light onto this darkness through love and humility. Learn more about Gloria’s work by visiting her website.
