I WAS DRAWN INTO MONEY RITUALS THAT USED CHILDREN

I am writing this with a heavy heart. For years I carried a secret that ate at me from the inside. I thought keeping it hidden would protect me, my family, and the people who helped me. Now I know that silence did more damage than words ever could. This is my confession — not to excuse what I did, but to tell the truth, to warn others, and to ask for forgiveness.

I come from a place where money is a thin thing. Jobs are rare, and pride is hard to keep. When a chance to change my life appeared, I grabbed it with both hands. The first times it felt like magic: sudden customers, unexpected payments, pieces of luck that no one could explain. People whispered about “power” and “blessings.” I told myself I had finally found a way out.

But behind those promises there was a cost I did not want to see.

Those who ran the rituals told me that certain acts would make the power stronger. They used words that sounded old and heavy, and they painted pictures of fortune and respect. They told us these things in private places — rooms with closed doors, late at night, where the only witnesses were those who already belonged to that circle.

And then someone suggested using children.

At first, I rebelled in my head. Not with my mouth — I said nothing. I was ashamed to admit I didn’t have the courage to leave. The pressure came slowly: whispers, tests of loyalty, reminders that I owed those who had helped me. We were told it would be “different” — that it was for the good of the family, for the future, for success. The words were like rope: they tied us tighter, piece by piece.

I want to be absolutely clear: nothing can excuse what happened. I cannot describe the things I saw or did in ways that would hurt others reading this. I will not repeat the vile details. What I will confess is this — I allowed my fear, my greed, and my shame to push me into silence and inaction. I failed to protect the innocent.

There are moments I will carry until I die. The look on a child’s face when fear became real. The way my hands trembled when I realized the meaning of what we were doing. The hollow weight of sudden money that felt like rust in my mouth. Every gain came with a cost I did not foresee: guilt that ate at my sleep, relationships that crumbled, and nights when I could not meet my own eyes in the mirror.

How did I escape? It was not a brave act. It began with small things: one whispered apology I could not take back, an attempt to stop showing up at meetings, finding one person who still had the courage to listen. It was the sight of a child who reminded me of my own younger brother that finally broke something inside me. I left in stages — sometimes cowardly, sometimes frightened — but I left. I told myself I would never return.

Leaving was not enough. The money did not wash away the stains on my heart. I owed people explanations and restitution I could not give. I owed children protection I had failed to offer. So I did what I could: I started talking to those I trusted, I sought out people who work to protect children, and slowly I used what little courage I had to push against the circle that had trapped me. It was dangerous. It was lonely. But every day I woke up determined not to be part of that silence anymore.

If you are reading this and you have been involved, or you are tempted, please stop. If you are part of a system that uses children to make money, know this — the short-lived gains are not worth the lifelong damage you cause. No amount of wealth can wipe clean what you take from an innocent life. The stories of “power” and “blessings” are lies that feed on desperation and fear.

If you suspect a child is in danger:

Tell someone you trust.
Contact local child protection services or the police.
Reach out to a local NGO that supports children and vulnerable families.
If you are not sure whom to call, find a community leader, a social worker, or a counselor — someone who will listen and act.

I do not write this to be forgiven easily. I write this because hiding the truth helped no one. I write this because there are children who may still be trapped, and because silence is part of what keeps the harm going. To anyone I hurt — I am deeply sorry. There will be no easy penance for what I allowed. I will spend whatever time I have trying to help fix the damage, to support those who protect children, and to speak against these rituals wherever I can.

If you want me to, I will share resources and contacts I found that help rescue and support children — but I want to do that without putting anyone at risk. If you are in danger now, please find a way to reach out to local authorities or an organization near you immediately.

This is my confession. It is the first true thing I have said in a long time. I am not proud of my past. I am trying to make my future an act of repair. If my words help one person step away from silence, one family find courage to speak up, or one child be kept safe, then these words will have meaning.

— A former participant, now trying to do better