Chap­ter 32 describes a time when I was caught in a web of con­trol and manip­u­la­tion, where the small moments of free­dom I once had were stripped away. I felt trapped in a life where even sim­ple things like hav­ing a meal or see­ing a date required per­mis­sion and con­stant scruti­ny. My father, who con­trolled every aspect of my life, imposed strict rules on who I could be with, what I could eat, and even how I could spend my time. When I went to din­ner par­ties, secu­ri­ty would inspect the house for any alco­hol or drugs, even some­thing as harm­less as Tylenol. Once I arrived, no one could drink until I left, and it felt like I was con­stant­ly being watched. The lack of auton­o­my over basic deci­sions made me feel suf­fo­cat­ed, and my sense of self was con­stant­ly being erod­ed by the restric­tions placed on me.

The pres­sure from my father extend­ed to every part of my life, includ­ing rela­tion­ships. When I began dat­ing, the secu­ri­ty team would run back­ground checks on poten­tial part­ners, make them sign NDAs, and even require them to under­go blood tests. My father’s need to con­trol every­thing extend­ed to even the most per­son­al aspects of my life, which caused me immense humil­i­a­tion and iso­la­tion. The con­ser­va­tor­ship pre­vent­ed me from hav­ing nor­mal rela­tion­ships or expe­ri­ences, and the deep­er I was pulled into it, the more I lost touch with myself. I had always been strong-willed, but the con­stant pres­sure to com­ply with oth­ers’ demands made it hard­er to hold onto the per­son I was before. I felt like a pup­pet, and I was start­ing to lose the abil­i­ty to see a way out. Even sim­ple moments of rebel­lion, like the desire to enjoy a date or a qui­et moment, felt impos­si­ble under such intense scruti­ny.

Despite the weight of these con­trol­ling forces, there were moments when I tried to break free, even if just in small ways. I sought solace in my chil­dren, and doing what­ev­er I could to see them again became my moti­va­tion to com­ply with the con­ser­va­tor­ship’s rules. But as the years went on, I real­ized that my per­son­al auton­o­my was being com­plete­ly dis­re­gard­ed, and the dam­age to my men­tal and emo­tion­al health was unde­ni­able. The more I tried to meet the expec­ta­tions placed on me, the more my sense of iden­ti­ty was lost. My body, my actions, and my choic­es were no longer my own, but a prod­uct of the con­ser­va­tor­ship and my father’s con­trol. This real­iza­tion, com­bined with the ever-present finan­cial exploita­tion, was a harsh reminder of how far my life had devi­at­ed from what I once envi­sioned. The mon­ey made from my tours was used to keep the sys­tem of con­trol intact, with those around me prof­it­ing while I remained trapped. My sense of self-worth had been reduced to what I could pro­duce for oth­ers, and it took a heavy toll on my spir­it.

As the Cir­cus Tour grossed over $130 mil­lion, it became clear that my free­dom was being trad­ed for finan­cial gain. My father, as a con­ser­va­tor, prof­it­ed from the deal, receiv­ing a per­cent­age of the earn­ings, along with a month­ly salary that exceed­ed any­thing he had made before. This real­iza­tion only deep­ened my anger and frus­tra­tion. My will­ing­ness to com­ply with the con­ser­va­tor­ship’s rules, to be away from my chil­dren and stripped of my free­dom, was all in exchange for the hope of see­ing them more. That small trade, of being with my kids, became my only solace, yet it came at an incred­i­bly high cost. The prof­its gen­er­at­ed from my work were not just a per­son­al sac­ri­fice but a direct exploita­tion of my iden­ti­ty and labor.