We often hear the phrase “freedom isn’t free,” a solemn reminder of the sacrifices made by those who fight for liberty. But there is another cost, one that too often goes unspoken—the price that survivors pay when they stand up for those still trapped in abuse and exploitation.
The stories of survivors are powerful. They shake us, challenge us, and demand action. They remind us why we fight and push forward even when the road seems endless. But these stories do not come without a cost. Each time a survivor steps forward to share, they give a piece of themselves; a piece that cannot always be easily reclaimed.
The Weight of Telling Their Stories
This week, as I spent time with survivors like Jessica Lamb and Alina Donahue, I was reminded of an often-overlooked truth: Survivors are so much more than their stories of suffering. Too often, society sees them primarily as the voices of their past traumas, using their experiences as an emotional hook to capture attention. While awareness is critical, we must recognize that their value extends beyond their ability to tell painful stories.
Each time they step onto a stage, in front of a camera, or across from an investigator, they are not just recounting events—they are reliving them. For us, it may be a conference, an awareness event, or a training session. But, for them, it is something far more personal. It is revisiting wounds that have only partially healed, reopening doors they have fought to close, and exposing parts of themselves that most would never share.
Survivors do this not for fame or recognition but because they hope their voice will help just one more person escape and find the courage to take the next step toward healing. And yet, we rarely stop to ask: What does it cost them?
The Burden of Representation
There is a silent expectation placed on survivors—that they must speak, that they must share, that they must always be ready to put their pain on display for the sake of the cause. But not every survivor reaches the point where they can tell their story publicly, and that is okay. Some choose silence for their protection, peace, or healing, and we must respect that choice just as much as we respect those who speak out.
And for those who step into the arena, we must not take their voices for granted. We must recognize that their contribution to this fight does not begin and end with their trauma. Many of them have developed expertise, skills, and insights that make them invaluable leaders in the movement against exploitation. Some become social workers, legal advocates, business owners, trainers, and policymakers. They are not just survivors: They are professionals, leaders, and changemakers in their own right.
If we only see them as survivors, we limit them. If we only listen to their pain, we fail to hear their wisdom.
The Responsibility of the Movement
Survivors should not be reduced to their worst experiences. As a movement, we must do better. That means supporting them not just when they speak but when they choose to live beyond their stories. That means paying them for their expertise, not just expecting them to share their trauma for free. That means offering them real opportunities to lead, contribute, and thrive outside of being “survivor speakers.”
It also means recognizing the emotional labor they undertake every time they speak. Too often, survivors are expected to share without any follow-up care. After they step off the stage, they are left to carry the weight alone. We must ensure they have access to trauma-informed support, peer networks, and pathways to continue healing.
We must also be mindful of how we ask them to share. Are they given control over their narrative? Are they pressured to tell the most graphic details because that’s what “moves” an audience? Are we protecting them from retraumatization? These are the questions we should be asking ourselves.
More Than Just Inspiration
It’s easy to say that survivors inspire us. And they do. They remind us why this fight matters. But inspiration is not enough. They do not owe us their stories. They do not exist to make us feel motivated. If we genuinely want to honor them, we must recognize them as the complex, capable individuals they are.
They are the ones who push us forward when we feel like giving up. They are the ones who remind us that this fight is not about statistics or policies—it’s about people. And in the moments when the frustration, exhaustion, and darkness set in, it is often their strength that keeps the rest of us going.
The Call to Action
So, what can we do?
- See survivors for who they are beyond their trauma. Recognize their expertise, skills, and contributions outside their past experiences.
- Compensate them fairly. Survivors should not be expected to share their trauma without compensation while others benefit. Their expertise has value.
- Protect their well-being. Ensure they have access to trauma-informed support and are not pressured into sharing their stories in ways that harm them.
- Create real opportunities. Invite survivors into leadership roles, advisory positions, and decision-making spaces. Let them shape the movement, not just be a talking point.
Because freedom isn’t free, and neither is the price survivors pay to remind us why it matters. Let’s make sure we honor them not just for their pasts, but for the futures they are building.