I always knew I would enter the sex industry.
My understanding of worth and beauty was so entangled with that of the porn stars I had grown up idealizing, that entering the industry was inevitable. Leaving, on the other hand, was something I never expected.
My earliest memories are intertwined with pornography and abuse. My understanding of myself as a young child was that I held no worth except for the times in which I was sexually exploited.
I was never treasured, loved, or valued daughter. I was burdensome, disposable, interchangeable. I was praised only when adults told me how beautiful I was or when my abuser expressed what a good job I'd done during my exploitation.
A feeling of otherness was deeply rooted in my heart. This feeling kept me bound to trauma and the enemy's lies, far past the duration of my abuse. As a teen, I put myself in situations that reinforced this cycle of victimization.
My sense of worth was utterly dependent on what HE said of me. Whoever HE was in my life at the time.
As a young adult, the porn industry reinforced this for me. Those ideals of beauty and value I was groomed with flourished in this industry. I remember finishing a shoot early in my career and going out to eat with the other "talent" and crew thinking, "this must be what family is."
I felt wanted there, they didn't just discard me after the shoot like other men in my life had, and for the first time, I had control of what I would or would not do with my body. Or, at least, the illusion of control.
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