I’m A Wilderness Therapy Survivor, & Children Like Me Deserve To Be Protected

Content warning: This article contains mentions of abuse and suicide.

Imagine being kidnapped in the middle of the night and driven hundreds of miles, where you’re forced to live in the middle of the woods for months with no end in sight. This has happened to thousands of innocent kids across the world — including celebrities like Paris Hilton. I’m also one of those kids.

It hasn’t been easy to open up about what happened to me. Over the years, I’ve become more and more embarrassed about this part of my life, and have done my best to pretend that it never happened. It’s hard feeling like an outcast — nobody I know has ever experienced anything remotely similar to this. However, having Paris Hilton, a woman so famous and loved, shamelessly talk about her experience in the troubled teen industry helps take away the stigma and, as a survivor, it’s so important to bring awareness to treatment centers and the mistreatment and abuse so many young teens face on a daily basis. Having someone like Paris Hilton tell her story was so inspiring to me, which is why I feel like it’s time I tell mine.

I was kidnapped in September 2020 and forced to become one of many survivors of the troubled teen industry.

Plagued by suicidal and depressive thoughts during my senior year of high school, at a boarding school hundreds of miles away from home, I begged my parents to let me leave — or to at least send me to a psychiatric hospital. Instead, I had two grown adults come into my room in the middle of the night and kidnap me. I was physically carried, Stranger 1 holding my arms and Stranger 2 holding my legs, as I kicked and screamed and cried. After a 22-hour drive to Blue Ridge, Georgia, I spent the next three months in the middle of the woods with no phone, deodorant, bathrooms, or showers, and minimal contact with family. 

While everyone has a different experience regardless of where they go, there are similar underlying themes: living in absolute filth, being dehumanized, carrying at least 75 pounds of gear on several mile-long hikes in extreme weather, being forced to be vulnerable and sharing their deepest trauma in front of total strangers; the list goes on and on. 

Because of my suicidal ideation and depressive tendencies, I was forced to stay within arms reach of a staff member at all times for my first seven days in my program, even when going to the bathroom. Being stripped of every last sliver of dignity I had left while squatting behind a tarp to use the bathroom with a staff member on the other side, I frequently wrote to my parents begging them to let me go home. My once-a-week letters to my parents were monitored, as were theirs. They weren’t allowed to write to me explaining what was going on in current events, and didn’t tell any of my friends or family that I was there; everyone that I knew and loved thought that I was either dead or ignoring them. 

Our hikes varied in length from thirty minutes to several hours — we didn’t know how long the hike was going to last until it ended. 

This didn’t stop me from writing letters to my parents begging them to give me any other option — I promised I’d behave and that I’d stop being depressed, but they simply ignored my pleas of desperation, telling me that I’d “eventually come to realize that this is what is best for me.” I soon learned that that was anything but true. 

From being informed that two of my friends had run away in the middle of the night in a desperate attempt to escape the mistreatment they were facing, to having one of my peers make an attempt on her life, my wilderness experience was anything but “rehabilitating,” as it’s commonly advertised to be. 

I was allowed to bathe once a week behind a tarp with a pot of cold water and a water bottle of 2-in-1, drying myself off with my clothes because we weren’t given towels. My “bathroom” was a tarp and a hole, where I had to scream my name the entire time so the staff could make sure that I didn’t run away.

We’d go on hikes without knowing how long they would be, carrying about 70 pounds of gear on our backs. Regardless of the weather, whether it was pouring rain or near freezing, we hiked. Our hikes varied in length from thirty minutes to several hours — we didn’t know how long the hike was going to last until it ended. 

We never knew when we’d go home, only being told over and over again that it was based on our “progress.” However, we had a vague timeline of 8-12 weeks, which felt promising. We weren’t allowed to know what time it was, just knowing that we woke up when the sun rose and slept when the sun set. 

I had plans to leave when I turned 18, but I woke up the day before my 18th birthday being served court papers telling me that my parents got legal guardianship over me, even though I was a legal adult, forcing me to stay at the program against my will.

I spent my 18th birthday, Halloween, and Thanksgiving in the middle of the woods, surrounded by strangers. I lost my right to vote in the 2020 Presidential election, being told “Your mail-in ballot didn’t come in time. Sorry!” despite knowing that they never requested one, having every last bit of adulthood I had left brutally ripped away from me.

I often wonder why my experience still affects me to this day. Did you know that I’m afraid of going on hikes? I haven’t been on a single hike since 2020; I’ve been asked on several hiking dates throughout the past four years and have had to decline adamantly with no explanation. 

Once an open book and eager to share this story with anyone and everyone, I’ve begun to hide this part of my life from others, overwhelmed with shame and scared that people will see me differently when I tell them that I am one of many survivors of the troubled teen industry. 

However, with Paris Hilton’s unwavering support toward the Stop Institutional Child Abuse Act, a bill aimed at the reformation of youth residential treatment facilities in order to prevent abuse and neglect, her efforts have helped amplify the need for systemic change and take the stigma away from programs like this, calling attention to the ongoing mistreatment of vulnerable youth in these institutions. 

Introduced to the House of Representatives and Senate in April of 2023, the act was unanimously passed by the Senate and House, and currently sits at the President’s desk for approval. If passed, the bill would ensure that youth residential treatment facilities are implementing their best possible practices by increasing oversight and data transparency, as well as supporting the education and training of mental health professionals who work in this field. Overall, the act plans to help identify and prevent institutional child abuse in youth treatment programs. 

While the Stop Institutional Child Abuse Act won’t ban residential treatment programs like this, it’s a step in the right direction. 

While I’ve been able to take the time to reflect on my experience and understand that this is what makes me the person I am today, this still shouldn’t have happened to me. While the Stop Institutional Child Abuse Act won’t ban residential treatment programs like this, it’s a step in the right direction. 

I’m not ashamed of what happened to me, but I am ashamed on behalf of the institutions that allow this violence and abuse to continue. It’s time for these programs to be held accountable and to prioritize the safety and dignity of every child over the profits of an industry built off their suffering. No child should have to endure what I and countless others have faced, and it’s up to us to ensure no child ever has to again.

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