In 2012, I learned about commercial sexual exploitation in Canada. As with many naive, white, middle-class Canadians, I had only heard about this type of tragedy in far off countries. To know it was happening in and through neighbourhoods like those I lived in and how very easy it would be to fall prey to love bombing, grooming and the like, I became determined to learn more.
At a conference in Atlanta, an organization helping survivors took to the stage and spoke about the women they served. They cued the audience members with white umbrellas to open them, representing the percentage of the population embroiled in sex trafficking. My breath caught in my throat as white umbrellas filled the massive stadium. This organization went on to talk about the thrift stores they had that supported their programming financially as well as provided safe spaces for survivors to learn on-the-job skills. Surely I could do that!
When I returned to Canada, I dove into research, conversations and planning to start a neighbourhood coffee shop and third space where people could come together in community, share their talents and some conversation, and get some of the best brewed coffee around. It would be set up as a not-for-profit with all the proceeds being donated to a Canadian organization that provided long-term care to survivors.
The problem...
There was no such organization at the time.
I spoke with survivors, allies and front-line workers. Each one expressed a general frustration that, while short-term, emergency care seemed available, the support required for long-term survival was limited. This unfortunately, would lead to the re-exploitation of survivors as opportunities, resources and hope were at a low.
This was an area I had no idea about. Coffee...I could figure out. Long-term care for survivors, that was a mystery. But I awoke every day with it weighing on me. Spent every day thinking about it. And went to bed every night racked with an ache I can't even describe.
So, I reached out to an acquaintance that I had met at a local awareness event, Jennifer Lucking. I knew she had experience with short-term services for survivors and that her education was embedded in this kind of work. I peppered her with questions about the need and ultimately asked if she would be game to try to make this happen.
She said yes.
And so, a year later, a small group of determined folks gathered one night in 2013. We sat on the floor of one of our homes and talked about what could be and what our next steps would be.
Thus, Restorations was birthed.
It wasn't a journey without its obstacles. Interpersonal issues arose, legal and political red tape had to be maneuvered, promises were broken, and dreams were snatched, but the determination remained. We knew we would succeed even if the path seemed more like a rollercoaster than a walk in the woods.
We engaged experts where we were weak or lacked knowledge. Our team grew and shrank and grew again. We battled the seemingly constant heartbreak. We celebrated each win.
Eventually, we overcame our largest hurdle to that point...charitable status. We had been rejected two times and it looked like we were about to receive our third strike. But we knew that without charitable status, potential donors and partner organizations would not take us seriously since we didn't as yet have the home or programming up and running. But without the donors or partners we couldn't get the house or programming up and running. It was a terrible catch-22.
The letter from the CRA came back for the third time. The woman who had been working with us commented that they were about to deny the request once again but "something" made them go back to the table. Not having a program like this in Canada with its specific purposes had given them pause, but ultimately, we got the green light and we were off running.
We got out in public at awareness events and fundraisers. We attended working groups. All the while working on the programming and growth of Restorations alongside survivors.
The next big hurdle was the house. We had been in line to receive a donation of a large, rural property that could house ten women and provide ample opportunity for growth. Our dreams went wild. We spent hours talking about what that space could mean. We laughed. We wept with hope. And then we wept with tears when the opportunity passed us by.
But our ever constant, ever profound Sally Wong stood in unwavering optimism and assured us there was a reason (gosh we love you, Sally).
Ultimately, Sally was right. We realized that though our aspirations were great, there was nothing wrong with starting smaller. What could we do now to support survivors while we waited for the house? So we started small with assistance for individuals. And we continued to grow Restorations with the resources it needed to eventually flourish.
In these years we saw many organizations pop-up quickly and then have to shut down from lack of funding. Though we, in part, wanted to move quicker, we knew the slower pace would be more sustainable. The absolute LAST thing we wanted to do was re-traumatize any survivors by opening on rocky ground and having to shut the doors on them.
Slow and steady wins the race.
