When people look at me today—a licensed therapist, professor, business owner, and advocate—they often cannot imagine the road that brought me here. What they see now is stability, accomplishment, and even inspiration. What they don’t see are the years I spent in the shadows: surviving sex trafficking, battling addiction, experiencing homelessness, enduring incarceration, and living through a cycle of shame and survival that nearly consumed me. 

I write not to shock, but to remind anyone still caught in those storms that the past does not define the future. My life is living proof that even the most fractured beginnings can be the foundation for something beautiful and whole. 

The Grip of Exploitation 

I was once trapped in a world where my body was not my own. Introduced to drugs by a pimp who promised me love and belonging, I fell into a cycle of addiction and exploitation. For ten years, I was prostituted on the streets—my survival hinged on the next fix, the next client, the next lie I told myself to keep going. The streets taught me how quickly people can strip away your humanity, and how systems often fail those of us most in need of compassion. 

Prison eventually became part of my story. While incarceration added another layer of trauma, paradoxically, it also cracked open the possibility of change. In those confined spaces, I began to imagine that life could be different. I began to believe, however faintly, that freedom might mean more than just the absence of bars. 

Choosing Recovery and Education 

When I left prison, I faced the same reality many survivors know too well: society is not built to welcome us back. Doors closed quickly when they saw my record, my history, my scars. But one door did not close—the door of education. I enrolled in college, at first timidly, unsure if I belonged. What I discovered was that knowledge could be a form of liberation. 

Education gave me the language to name my trauma, the tools to reframe my experiences, and the confidence to build something new. I pursued a master’s degree in Clinical Professional Psychology and later a doctorate in Counselor Education and Supervision. Each classroom became a stepping stone out of the past and into purpose. 

Becoming the Helper I Needed 

As I healed, I felt a calling to become what I once desperately needed: a compassionate, skilled therapist who would not judge, who could hold space for pain and possibility at the same time. Today, I own and operate a multi-state counseling practice. I also founded a nonprofit dedicated to creating a “therapeutic village” where survivors, marginalized communities, and everyday people can heal in holistic, culturally grounded ways. 

I often say that my professional life is not just a career—it is an act of resistance. It resists the narrative that victims are broken beyond repair. It resists the stigma that incarceration erases your worth. And it resists the silence that shame tries to impose on survivors. 

Why I Share My Story 

Telling my story has not always been easy. There is vulnerability in saying, “I was trafficked. I was addicted. I was in prison.” Yet, I share it because silence is a prison too—and breaking it helps others find their keys. 

For survivors who read this, I want you to know: you are more than what was done to you. You are more than the substances you used to cope. You are more than the record that tries to follow you. You are possibility, resilience, and brilliance waiting to be uncovered. 

And for allies, advocates, and professionals: remember that behind every statistic is a human being. We don’t just need services; we need to be seen. We need systems that recognize our humanity and invest in our futures, not just our failures.  

Reclaiming Voice 

I often think of the Sankofa bird from West African tradition—a symbol of going back to retrieve what is lost in order to move forward. My life has been a Sankofa journey. I had to return to the broken pieces of my past, not to stay there, but to gather them as fuel for my healing and my work. 

Today, when I sit across from a client, stand in front of a classroom, or speak at a conference, I am reminded of that truth: we are never just survivors. We are visionaries, builders, and storytellers. Our voices are not whispers of the past but blueprints for a more just, compassionate future. 

I share my story not because it defines me, but because it may free someone else. That is the power of survivor voices: to transform pain into power, silence into song, and ashes into fire that lights the way forward. 

This piece was published on January 12, 2026. It was authored by Dr. Joel Filmore, EdD, LCPC, LPC, LMHC. 

Dr. Joel Filmore, EdD, LCPC, LPC, LMHC, is a survivor, professor, author, licensed therapist, and former CAASE client. His nonprofit, Sankofa Village, is dedicated to creating accessible, culturally grounded mental health and wellness spaces for Black, Queer, Trafficked, and marginalized communities. Learn more about it here. 

Survivor Voices is a project from CAASE where we source and spotlight writing by survivors. Our goal is to uplift a diverse array of perspectives, voices, and stories, and cover a variety of topics survivors want to write about. Interested writers can learn more about Survivor Voices here.  

If you are a survivor who would like to write a guest blog for Survivor Voices, please reach out to Lizzy Springer, Marketing & Communications Manager, at lspringer@caase.org.