Pieces of Me: Healing After the Unimaginable

32 years later….a survivor’s reflection.

When survivors share their stories or testimonies, we often begin by painting a picture of how the day started.

“It was a beautiful, sunny day…”

“I had just spent the afternoon with friends at the park…”

“I remember the breeze at the beach…”

Those moments before trauma hits—so vivid, so normal—stay with us. They’re the last fragments of life as we knew it. But the day my life changed wasn’t ordinary. It began with grief.

Early that morning, my mom got a heartbreaking phone call—our cousin’s daughter had passed away. The stillness in the room after she hung up the phone felt heavy, thick with sorrow. We spent the day at our cousin’s house, mourning the tragic loss, surrounded by pain and disbelief. I sat quietly, watching my mom comfort our cousin, her arms wrapped tightly around her as if trying to hold her together. The sadness in the air clung to us all, like a fog.

Something about that day felt off. At the time, I chalked it up to the grief—to the shock and weight of death. But now, looking back, it feels like something deeper was stirring. A shadow that hadn’t yet shown itself.

By the time we got home, I was emotionally exhausted. But more than anything, I just wanted a little space—to be alone in the comfort of something familiar. I was 14, and all I wanted to do that night was relax, wait for a phone call from a friend, and watch a movie I had been excited to see, and had seen many times: Drop Dead Fred. I even planned to record it.

When I asked if I could stay home instead of going to the store with my mom and aunt, I didn’t expect her to say yes. But, reluctantly, she did.

So I stayed behind. Not to sleep or curl under the covers, but to enjoy a quiet moment, the kind only a teenager would think of as peaceful and simple—TV, a phone call, and some time alone.

Outside, the rain had begun to fall—a soft, misty drizzle that made the night feel eerily quiet. I didn’t know then that my sense of calm would soon be shattered. I didn’t know that night would change everything.

Little did we know that as our day began in mourning, another tragedy was already unfolding. One that hadn’t yet revealed itself.

My mother would soon become the mother of a missing child.

And I—a 14-year-old girl waiting on a phone call, a movie, and a moment of peace—would become the victim of multiple crimes. My life, my safety, my future—suddenly hanging in the balance.

Will I live?

Will I survive this?

Or will I die?

Will my mom be left with only questions and unbearable silence, forced to wonder where I am, what happened to me, if I’ll ever come home?

The fear of the unknown was no longer just a feeling. It was real. It was alive. And it was closing in.

Perhaps what has stuck with me the most over the past 32 years—as today marks the anniversary of when I was kidnapped—is the way life can change in an instant. You begin your day just like any other day… and then, all of a sudden, an unexpected tragedy strikes.

You’re left stuck in disbelief, asking yourself: How did I get here? What led to this?

And a piece of you dies.

From that moment on, you spend the rest of your life trying to heal, trying to recover. It’s hard for people to understand what that really means—that one day, I was just a normal 14-year-old kid. I had just finished 8th grade. I just wanted to watch TV and wait for a phone call from a friend.

And then suddenly, I was fighting for my life.

Every single day that I wake up, I feel that same unease. The whole day feels suspect. I wonder, what trauma will I have to survive today? Because back then, I never saw it coming. And yet, it happened.

I know that this is life—and life is full of ups and downs. But knowing that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. It’s a scary thought to live with, that something so life-altering can happen without warning… and that it did.

I’ve been asked many times:

What do you get out of sharing your story?

What have you gained by asking questions about the offender?

Why do you want to reach out to certain people who were there that night?

And what I can say is—sharing my story has helped me put pieces of the puzzle together in ways I never expected.

I’ve learned more about the man who hurt me. I came to understand that he wasn’t just someone who made a mistake—he was someone who needed to be put away.

I’ve also had the chance to reconnect with Donna—the only person who helped me that night. I was able to look her in the eyes and say thank you. That alone was a healing moment I didn’t know I needed.

Sharing my story has helped me accept what happened to me. I no longer carry the blame for opening the door, or for being too scared to run, or for freezing when I wanted to scream. I’ve come to understand those are all normal, human responses to trauma. I was a child—just 14—and none of what happened was my fault.

And maybe the most meaningful part of all: I’ve seen how sharing my truth has helped others find theirs. I’ve watched people get help, speak up, and begin their own journeys toward healing.

Over the years, every time I’ve shared my story, I’ve experienced some form of growth. Whether it’s through my volunteer work, the recognition I’ve received, or the birth of my nonprofit—I’ve taken steps forward. Year after year, I’ve reclaimed pieces of myself.

In many ways, I’ve rewritten the narrative.

Not of what happened to me, but of what I’ve done with what happened to me.

⸻

What happened to me doesn’t define who I am—but it is a major part of who I’ve become.

And while that night will always live within me, I can now say, with 100% certainty, that I am more than just another victim of sexual violence. I am more than my trauma.

I am a mother.

A leader.

An advocate.

A survivor.

A truth-teller.

A light for others still finding their way through the dark.

This anniversary is not just a reminder of the pain that I endured—it’s a reflection of how far I’ve come. It’s a reflection of purpose, resilience and growth. I have turned pain into purpose, silence into advocacy, and survival into a mission of service and healing.

There are still hard days. The fear and the questions don’t always disappear. But I wake up each day and choose to keep going—not just for me, but for the ones who haven’t found their voice yet.

To anyone reading this who carries their own hidden wounds: your story matters. Your healing matters. And you are not alone.

This is what 32 years of surviving, learning, and rising looks like.

And I’m still standing.

The Importance of Sharing Survivor Stories & Experiences

What I hope people see when I share my story is not someone seeking pity, but rather someone who started this journey without knowing where it would lead. Despite the challenges and hurdles along the way, it’s possible to grow and make a difference—not because every traumatic experience has a silver lining, but because in my case, I’ve been able to find strength and purpose through it.

Sharing has helped me connect with others—whether through volunteering or leadership—and that’s what I want to encourage. I don’t share to invite sympathy; I share so someone who is struggling can see that if I can keep going, it is possible that they can too. More importantly, I want that person to reach out for help—whether it’s from me, a trusted friend or family member, or a supportive organization—and decide to begin their own journey toward healing.

What I Wish I Had Done Sooner: A Survivor’s Journey to Healing

As a survivor of teen assault, there are three key things I wish I had done sooner in my healing journey. First, I wish I had found a skilled therapist, psychologist, or psychiatrist to help me process the trauma, and guide me through the emotional aftermath. Second, I wish I had sought out a support group where I could connect with others who understood my experience and could offer a sense of community. Lastly, I wish I had discovered an organization that could provide access to additional resources to support my recovery and overall well-being.

Over the past 31 years, I’ve learned that any one of these steps could have significantly expedited my healing process. When I connected with Center for Community Solutions (CCS) in 2009, I realized that finding the right support system is one of the most critical factors in fully healing. The right resources, connections, and community can make all the difference on the journey to recovery.

Even though I had the support of family and friends back then, my mental health continued to suffer. I lost my creativity and withdrew, spending much of my time in my room reading but not engaging in anything that truly supported my healing from the trauma. I didn’t have the tools or resources needed to address the deeper emotional scars.

I’ve always shied away from therapy and never put much effort into it. I didn’t find it helpful when it felt like my emotions were just being validated without addressing the root of the problem. But now, I feel like I’ve finally found the right support. I’m no longer ashamed to speak about how important it is to have good mental health providers.

At 14, if I had found a support group where I could talk with other teen survivors, it would have made a huge impact in helping me process my emotions. Instead, I felt the need to isolate and keep my story hidden out of fear that I wouldn’t be understood, or that my story would scare people away, or worse, that no one would believe me because of everything that happened during the time I was missing. Being believed is a vital first step for any survivor, and the fear of not being believed can cause you to shut down completely. Holding onto something so heavy can do a lot of harm, which is why I’m grateful that I’m able to speak about my experience freely today. I know now that I am not alone, and that there are others out there like me.

Finding a supportive organization was a true game-changer. Initially, I only wanted to volunteer for CCS as a member of the Sexual Assault Response Team (SART) because of the impact my victim advocate, Ruby Marsden, had on me after my kidnapping. Ruby was so helpful and nurturing, and I always dreamed of being that person for someone else one day. It took a long time for me to get there, but in 2022, I finally achieved that goal. This year, I’ve had the opportunity to volunteer for SART, and it was a challenging but rewarding experience.

CCS has also given me a platform to speak freely about my survivor story during crisis intervention trainings. Since then, I’ve been able to share my experience at various locations around San Diego, and it has been one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done.

Looking back, I wish my mother and I had explored other organizations, such as the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC). I know they have more resources now than they did back then, but healing from sexual trauma is different from healing from abduction. There are two parts to my story, and I’m still addressing both. Having my life threatened and being taken from my home and loved ones, and facing the constant uncertainty of whether or not I would survive from one moment to the next, was terrifying. I believe that if my mother and I had connected with an organization that specifically supported missing children and their families, it would have helped in ways we weren’t able to address at the time.

The feelings I struggled to deal with after the abduction included the shock of being caught off guard, not expecting someone to react violently. The transition from feeling safe and unaware to suddenly facing the possibility of dying has haunted me for years. I often grappled with the belief that I had disobeyed and somehow deserved what happened because I didn’t listen. No one made me feel that way, yet that thought constantly lingered in my mind: If I had just listened to my mom and not opened the door, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Being away from home and my loved ones filled me with uncertainty. Bystanders were watching from the sidelines, doing nothing to help—no one called the police or tried to bring me back to safety. I constantly questioned my survival: What if I fall? What if he catches me? What if? The urge to escape was strong, yet fear held me back. I wondered what would happen if my attempt to flee failed. When was it safe to escape? Should I comply and hope for the best? These questions haunted me, leaving me in a constant state of anxiety and second-guessing myself.

At the time, I didn’t know much about sex trafficking, but my kidnapper had threatened to take me to St. Louis, Missouri, and sell me to men. There were many horrifying things I was told that I’m grateful never happened. I’m incredibly thankful to still be alive after such an experience. My hope is that by sharing my story and journey, I can help others turn their pain into purpose. I’ve been given a second chance, and I’m determined to make the most of it. This part of my journey is about peeling back the layers and getting to the root of my healing. I pray that once I do, I will be able to flourish and continue to thrive in this space. By addressing the deeper wounds, I believe I’ll be able to grow even stronger and make a greater impact.

In 2018, a police cadet that I met while presenting at the San Diego Regional Police Academy gifted me with a painting that said, Fight the Fear. Ever since then, I have remembered that and I often reflect on that painting. Everything that I'm doing now is an attempt to fight the fear. The fear of not being worthy, the fear of not being good enough, the fear of having a story that's not good enough to be told or shared with the world, the feeling that nobody cares and so why even try? What I’ve learned, is that people do care about what I have to say and are willing to listen.

Launching LaDonna Renee VST Foundation, Inc., as well as the scholarship program, is helping me heal my inner child. Although it’s many years later, I am healing my 14-year-old self by becoming the person I wish I had back then. Today, I not only have access to the resources I needed, but I still have the unwavering love and support of my family and friends—perhaps even more so than before. Along this journey, I’ve met so many wonderful people who have become part of my support system. Now, I’m able to give back and share what I’ve learned, in the hope that it will help others. My goal is to be the person I needed for someone else.

2024 has brought a lot of change, and while it’s been a tough year, I’ve reconnected with a great psychologist whom I trust. I’m also working with a psychiatrist who has helped me manage my medication, and together, they make a strong team. Eventually, I want to see a trauma specialist to dig deeper into healing my inner child, as I believe it’s important to start at the root. This will be an essential part of my journey moving forward.

With LaDonna Renee VST Foundation, Inc., I have created and will continue to build a circle of supportive individuals, fostering an environment where we can not only support one another but also help other survivors in need of connection. Connection has been a critical part of my healing journey. Connecting with like-minded people who truly understand what I’ve been through and who have had similar experiences has helped me realize that I am not alone.

I am incredibly grateful to the CCS for providing me with the platform and space to share my story, which has opened many doors for me. I will always appreciate them as a supportive resource and network, as it has truly been life-changing. My hope for all my readers is that you, too, will feel inspired and encouraged to share your stories when you are ready. Gaining the confidence and courage to do so can take years, but whenever that moment comes, know that there are people who are willing to listen, support you, and help you thrive.

Healing Through Education: How Learning Can Support Survivors After Trauma

In June 1993, I was kidnapped and assaulted by someone we believed to be a family friend. Afterward, I returned to school as if nothing had happened, with little support and minimal therapy. Thrust into the 9th grade, I was left to bear the weight of this traumatic experience alone.

I’ve always loved school and was excited and ready for the new school year to begin. I remember my guidance counselor and principal checking in on me, asking how I was doing, and offering support if I needed it. But looking back, I realize schools weren’t equipped with a trauma-informed approach back then. Though their intentions were good, I didn’t receive the level of support I truly needed. My mom and I were both deeply traumatized by the experiences we endured before the preliminary hearings. That experience made us shy away from any form of therapy, and we never looked back.

Before the kidnapping, I found joy in writing, journaling, and art, but after the trauma, I lost interest in those things. I stopped journaling altogether when my personal writings were used against me, distorting my identity into someone I wasn’t.

I walked the halls carrying a heavy story that no one really knew. A few people asked about what happened to me, but most had no clue that I was “the girl” who had been abducted from 1100 Rangeline St. I remember one person accusing me of making it up for attention.

One of my best friends recently told me that she hadn’t fully grasped what I had been through until we were adults. Then one day, I finally shared the full story with her, and she was in complete shock.

In spite of all of that, returning to school allowed me to channel my energy into learning, providing a much-needed distraction from everything I had been through.

I’ve always placed a high value on education, so I worked hard to keep my grades up. It became a positive outlet for me, a way to focus on growth and building relationships.

By my junior year, I knew that I wanted to attend the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in San Diego, California. I knew that I did not want to stay in Columbia, Missouri because of all of the memories that haunted me. I knew that I wanted to escape, and I've always loved fashion. So my sister, Lori, had met an admissions advisor from the school, and that’s when my journey to California began. It was very exciting, and I looked forward to the opportunity to move to such a beautiful place.

While attending college is not essential for a survivor to thrive, it gave me a healthy way to cope and turn that painful energy into something creative and enjoyable.

After attending FIDM, I returned to Columbia, Missouri, to attend Stephens College. Although I had moved back to the place where the crime had occurred, my positive experiences in school made it feel less painful than before.

Thanks to Stephens, I was able to continue pursuing my passion for fashion, merchandising, marketing, and management. I had the opportunity to assist with fashion shows, connect with more creative people, and thrive in the electric energy of the campus.

Pursuing my education pushed me out of my comfort zone and eventually placed me in environments where my voice could be heard and led to me connecting with others who had similar experiences.

Attending FIDM, along with Stephens, allowed me to grow in my retail career. I’ve had the privilege of meeting incredible people, working for inspiring leaders, and connecting with amazing employees. At each company, I’ve fostered a family-like atmosphere, which has been a true blessing.

Why does LaDonna Renee VST Foundation, Inc. wish to provide scholarships?

In 2009, I met a remarkable woman named Billie Sangster, who founded the nonprofit, Council for Youth Empowerment. This organization provides scholarships to titleholders who engage in community service and develop valuable life skills, such as interviewing, poise, developing a community service platform, and public speaking. I was deeply inspired by the impact these scholarships had on the participants and thought, I would love to offer a scholarship to a survivor in need of support someday —someone eager to volunteer in their community and make a difference in the lives of others.

As a teen survivor, the opportunity to create a platform and apply for scholarships based on my experiences would have given me the confidence to use my voice much sooner than at 30. If there had been a scholarship available for survivors at the time, it would have also helped ease some of the financial burden of moving to another state and attending college.

However, what I’ve learned is that it’s never too late, and building confidence takes time.

While I can’t change the past, I realize that I need to focus on what I can do today. I hope to inspire other survivors to use their voices to create change, heal themselves, and help others along their journeys.

Caroline Wanga, CEO & President of Essence Venutres, stated during her acceptance speech at the NACAN 2024 Keepers of the Dream Cultural Award ceremony, that, “To see me is trauma repair.” At 14, I longed to feel seen and understood. Applying for a scholarship or connecting with a supportive organization would have given me that sense of validation and support.

The purpose of the scholarship program is to let survivors of any age know that they are not alone and that there are people who understand and who are willing to help them succeed. I want to be a light for those experiencing darkness, reminding them that despite their trauma, they can still thrive and make a meaningful impact on the world and in their communities.

If I can inspire even one person through my experience and journey, then it will all be worth it.

A Letter from the Gray Ghost

Dear LaDonna,

You have a habit of trusting people who do not have pure intentions and who ultimately bring you harm. I watched as pieces of your beautiful heart were left shattered on the floor that unspeakable evening.

Clinging to life, death was imminent. You lay on the living room floor atop broken shards of glass, breathless and fading fast. A sense of calmness overcame you as the white light appeared, but you weren’t ready to go. You knew that you had more to do.

Like those shards of glass from your past, Your heart is broken, but it can be mended. Broken, yet still beautiful. You are not beyond repair. Your light may have dimmed that night, but it was not fully extinguished. The fire within you still burns bright.

Over the years, you have been brought back to life by your family and friends who love you dearly. You have shared your story of escape and survival with thousands who have told you that you are brave and courageous. Be confident in that. You have a purpose. Evil and disingenuous people may still cross your path, but God will give you the discernment to identify them, and no weapon formed against you shall prosper.

You will continue to experience times of uncertainty and other adverse experiences over time. Just like you did when you were in limbo between life and death, you will need to rely on your faith and remain hopeful in order to minimize the pain and discomfort. Stay strong. Fight the fear, hang on for dear life, do not let evil win.

That morning when you became so desperate to live, and were able to wiggle yourself free from death’s grip, your angels and the prayers of your loved ones were protecting you. They still are. Do not give up. You will not fail.

The memories that haunt you will not win. Nor will the darkness that creeps in only to feed off of your genuine and divine energy during the times when you are feeling the most vulnerable. Love will prevail. God loves you, and you were saved so that you could make an impact on the lives of others.

You may have left pieces of your heart on the living room floor, amongst the shards of glass that evening, and you may have felt your soul begin to drift away once the white light appeared…… However, your life was spared. You had more to do. You survived and you are blessed.

So please, let go of the haunting memories of me and the others who have caused you pain. Be free. Be kind. Continue to be YOU. Embrace your scars. They add to your uniqueness and beauty. Pray often, take risks, continue to love and support others, and THRIVE! With every heart and soul that you touch, your own heart will continue to heal.

Sincerely,

The Gray Ghost