BECOMING AN ORPHAN BY ABUSE & ABANDONMENT

My beginning was a rough start. I am a multi-racial adoptee – growing up I was told I was half Korean and half Swedish. Although I am an American adoptee, I was born in Korea. And although I was born in Korea, I was born on US soil on an American army base. My biological father, originally from MN, was stationed in Seoul and met my biological mother there. I was born there in Korea and from the pictures I have seen, we looked and appeared genuinely happy. Growing up, I sometimes wished I never had those photos and other times I was grateful to have them so I knew who I looked like more –– the three of us, smiling frozen in time.

Just a few months shy of turning one, we made the big move from Korea to Texas where he would be stationed next. My mother gave birth to my little brother on that army base in Texas when I was one and a half. She was not stable mentally or emotionally, needing to be in and out of the hospital. We were flown back and forth between Texas and Minnesota (to live with our Grandma) quite a few times as we were needing places to stay. Our mother at this time had left our family abruptly and flew back to Korea to live with her mother. While we lived with the Texas neighbors, our father stayed in barracks so he could support our little family.

All of this happened before I was four years old. I had no stability (we had already moved six times between various homes and families). I didn’t develop bonds with my parents. I knew rejection really well. And all of what previously is shared isn’t the hardest part of my early years. It is what comes next that I believe these early years created so many vulnerabilities.

Our father moved us all up to MN with the hopes of creating a new life for us. He bought land up north and took us camping a lot. I was three. My brother was two. Unfortunately the dreams of a new life were shattered and his choices landed us right back in foster care. While on a camping trip he sexually abused me. I shared with my grandma what had happened, explaining why there was blood in my toddler underpants when she was helping me in the bathroom after we got home from that trip. I may never know what he did, but I do know it cost him prison until I was 18 years old. She knew she had to do the right thing and report him to the authorities.

We were quickly orphans by abandonment and abuse. We were placed in a shelter for several months and moved again into a foster home. We even lived with our aunt and uncle for a time. I remember these times. I remember calling my aunt “mom” at a wedding and she had to explain to me that she could not be my mom. We were placed in a shelter home again and then moved to live with Grandma again. It was around this time that I discovered a love for drawing. It was an escape from chaos and allowed me to slow down and create whatever I wanted on paper. It was then I knew I wanted to be an artist when I grew up; it was this goal that would help me push through whatever obstacle came my way. Eventually it was decided best that we would be adopted after a total of 14 moves by age six. I had moved over 20 times from birth to young adult life. It was at that age when she told us that we would have to leave her to find a family. I remember that conversation too. That one hurt.

Not only were my brother and I hurting and scared to leave her, I know she was feeling the same. She took extra time and care to share Jesus with us that Christmas and created special memories that I hold onto this day now at age thirty five.

ADOPTION & GROWING UP

We got to meet a family that was connected to our Grandma through mutual friends and met the primary criteria my Grandma had wanted for our future home. She really had wanted us in a Christian home and felt this one would be a good fit. We stayed a night and asked if we thought it would be a good home. I remember getting to sleep on a mattress on the floor in a pretty empty room and feeling excited at the potential and idea of having my very own bedroom and my very own family. And most importantly, my little brother would be with me. Of course we said we liked the family. And so began the process of a long journey towards adoption.

Our adoption process was messy and not finalized until I was in middle school. I was a “challenging” kid and my brother was more quiet and cooperative. Growing up I really wasn’t able to heal from all our trauma in our early years and my adoptive mom wasn’t equipped or able to help us heal, especially me. I remember having hopes for what family could be and being crushed that what we had been placed in was not “happy” like that picture I had of me as a baby with my biological parents before all hell broke loose. We did share many happy memories, but overall, there was more pain than joy.

My adoptive mom and I did not get along and fought quite a bit. I became very fearful of her growing up; not really knowing if we would be coming home to her anger and wrath or her love and kindness. As my relationship with my mom became worse, my relationship with my dad was strengthened as I looked up to him for wisdom, comfort and peace.

I struggled with depression and anxiety since I was six years old and had no self-worth. I loved going to friends’ houses, I loved school and I was good at school. I did not want to be home. When I was in middle school I was sexually abused by another individual – just a few years older than me. The very thing I was supposed to be safe from as we were adopted into a new home for a fresh start, happened again. I remember going to bed crying a lot, longing for love, and also being extremely angry at my biological father, at my mom, at my recent abuser, and at God. I would ask God why He put me through so much. I eventually decided that either A.) God was not real, because a “good” God would not allow me to go through everything I had gone through or B.) He was not good and was more like an evil puppet master.

I learned by this time that I had to be stronger than I felt and to try to always be happy. As a high schooler, this is exactly how I portrayed myself. Strong and happy. On the inside I was broken, depressed, and struggled with suicidal thoughts. When I finally was brave enough to share about the abuse I went through in middle school, I was not believed, accused of lying, and told if it happened, it was my fault.  I became more rebellious and made a lot of poor choices, yet maintained good grades.

TRYING TO STAND ON MY OWN

I started college right away after high school for a B.S. in Graphic Design. I didn’t want to be a “starving artist” and so the only other creative option at the college I attended was to pursue Graphic Design. That seemed like it could offer me financial security down the road. I didn’t want to waste time growing up. I very badly wanted to be on my own. I also didn’t want to live with roommates so I was able to fill out a petition where I was approved to live off campus for my freshman year. I moved out of the house on my 18th birthday and moved in with other friends. And then moved on my own while I was attending college and working nearly full time.

That was one of the most challenging times of my life. I was taking 16 credits for my semester, working 35 hours in retail (just enough under full time to not receive benefits) and biking between work, school, and my apartment. I was never provided the opportunity to learn to drive or get my own car. But I was resilient and determined to make a future for myself and become the artist I had always hoped to be since I was a little girl.

One day while riding my bike home from work I woke up on a sidewalk at the bottom of a hill. I woke up not knowing my name, who my parents were, or where I was. The last thing I remembered was a stop light a few blocks away. I was treated for a broken arm and concussion and racked up a nice $16k in medical debt. I had no idea how I was going to pay that off. And I hated the idea of debt or owing anyone any money. I could share so much more here, but to keep this brief, I will say this; someone prayed over my arm and it was immediately healed. I remember the doctors showing me the before and after xrays of my fractures just a few days a part. I was so angry with God, I didn’t even care He healed me. I remember telling Him, “alright, you are real. But you can’t buy my love with a miracle.” That is how hard my heart was. I didn’t believe he was good. I continued to attend school, worked just as much as I had been, but because my bike was busted from that accident (I believe I was hit by a car) I was walking to each place I needed to be in the middle of our MN winter cold. My body was so tired. I began losing interest in school, totally dropped out, and started to lose hope. My depression spiraled out of control and I began contemplating suicide almost daily. I was in survival mode. And yet I kept trying to be strong enough and happy enough to make it through each day. I did get a car though and this helped me keep going and gave me some more hope.

ENTERING THE INDUSTRY, BEING TRAFFICKED

I no longer could afford the place I was at and broke my lease to live with a friend from high school. I didn’t live with her long because she kept leaving the rent up to me, so moving in really never helped financially. My boyfriend then encouraged me to rent from his uncle and so I moved in with him and paid less than half of what I was paying before. I remember this uncle of his would joke about how I could strip if I wanted to pay off my debt faster. He did actually hook me up with a real, full-time job as an office manager though. But I still wasn’t able to pay my medical bills, school loan, and everything else. Every thing that I had gone through in life created so many vulnerabilities in me. I needed money, I was in survival mode, I had no self worth, I didn’t have strong family relationships, I was depressed, anxious, and just wanted to start over with college. I really wanted to graduate. Little did he know that his joke was a seed planted and a few months later I responded to an online ad looking to hire strippers. It was either this or suicide. It was survival for me. I went to the “interview” and was given enough information where I felt it was “safe” enough to work a night. Every vulnerability I had was soon to be exploited. 

My first night working changed me deep in my core and seemed like scars or wounds that would last forever. Thankfully now, looking back, I can say each of those scars are gilded in gold and I am healed and whole now. That night, I was transported to a bachelor party. I was not told what to expect, and was told if I didn’t comply, I would not be paid. What I was required to do and what happened to me, was so far beyond anything I had imagined working as a “stripper” would be like. And when those acts were done whatever innocence, purity, or worth I had leftover after all my childhood abuse was gone. I now knew and walked in hopelessness but made sure to walk as if I was in control, empowered, and happy. I let my dreams die and no longer felt I could pursue art or design. I felt stuck, covered in shame.

My trafficker never was violent against us (myself and the other girls), but he was coercive and controlling. He would get very upset if I didn’t respond to his texts fast enough. He controlled the way I looked, how long we worked, and how much money we were paid. He took extra time with me, grooming me, and would take me to the gym to make sure I got in “optimal shape,” just like how he wanted. He changed my diet. My nails. My hair. And even convinced me to tan and change my skin color to look more “exotic” so that I could bring in more cash. He corrected my posture and I remember him telling me how to hold my body when picking cash up off the ground. He knew enough about my family background and told me we were like family and that he cared for me and wanted me to be successful and go back to school.

He began to further groom me to bring more women in to work for him by bringing me into strip clubs so that I could convince those women to leave the clubs and work for him. It was in a strip club that I heard God’s voice for the first time. As my trafficker was telling me “I want you to get the girls out of here for me,” I heard God’s voice in my thoughts, “You aren’t going to do it for him. You are going to do it for Me.” I began praying for my exodus. I began asking God to give me the strength to leave. I hated being controlled and I hated feeling stuck. Anytime I tried to quit and leave, I was threatened with blackmail. I never took drugs like many of the girls around me did. But it was in this season of my life I began to drink to numb my pain and also began planning to end my life.

DIVINE INTERVENTION

Eventually my car was totaled in an accident. I knew God protected me because it was like there was a force-field bubble of protection around me after looking at the damage. I began to believe God was good and that He was for me. I was no longer able to drive to the pick-up locations where I would be transported from and that helped me buy some time to not show up for work. I wasn’t even in the industry long before I made sure to end my life. My own plans to get myself on my feet failed. And I no longer wanted to live. But God met me that night – my suicide attempt. I remembered Jesus, the One my Grandma shared with me when I was so little. I surrendered my life to Jesus that night and He saved me from my suicide attempt in 2009. I exchanged my plans for His. I will never forget, I remembered a scripture someone spoke over me a year before. The fact that I could remember that verse, word for word, was a miracle. It was Jeremiah 29:11. That scripture saved my life.

HEALING, FREEDOM, PURPOSE

I woke up the next morning asking Him to show me my next step. And I listened. I moved out of where I was living and went back to school and never looked back. And I would do that every day. I eventually was able to go back to college for Graphic Design where I met my mentor (who still mentors me and is my spiritual mama) and after college I married my high school boyfriend, who stood by my side through everything, and I started my own freelance design business. I began learning how to restore my relationship with my adoptive mom. My trafficker kept trying to contact me with threats of blackmail but I was able to eventually cut off all ties and communication.  And I started my own personal healing journey, which was so challenging but so worthwhile to trust God with all those pieces. It was in my healing journey where I began to create art, not designs for clients, but art for me. I started sharing my story around this time as well. After losing my adoptive dad to cancer in 2016 I realized how short life is and how important it is to leave a legacy of purpose, hope, and encourage the next generation towards Jesus.

I wanted to help others heal from trauma like mine and help women whose vulnerabilities were exploited and heal from exploitation and trafficking and so in 2016 I founded REMADE (formerly Anchor 13 Studio) and now serve as CEO. It is an anti-trafficking nonprofit here in MN fueled by the creative arts. We offer art healing workshops, do strip club outreach in the Twin Cities (and yes, I get to step foot on a regular basis inside that club where I heard God’s voice for the first time, not for my trafficker, but for God). I am currently in a tattoo apprenticeship so that I can use my creative gifts to offer cover up services to women who have received brand tattoos by their traffickers. I also enjoy speaking and sharing my story when given the opportunity. My high-school-sweetheart husband and I have been married for eleven years now and we have a beautiful five-year-old daughter. It is my greatest joy to provide a childhood for her that is completely different from mine. Each year she gets older is a milestone of redemption from my early years.

God is so good. He is so real. And He is the best Father and the safest place. He is my healer and my redeemer. And I hope my story reveals how His love can find those who feel lost in the darkest of places and how no heart is too hard for Him to soften. I share my story to reveal hope, give Him glory, and share how God can mend us together and make us whole and remade.