My Life as a Female Private Investigator

CW: Contains themes of substance abuse, sexual violence and mental health.

A Journey of Discovery and Advocacy

The tale that unfolds in these pages is not one adorned with fairy-tale beginnings or ends. Instead, it is a raw and unvarnished account of the trials and tribulations that have shaped me. This is not just a story; it is a reflection of resilience, a testament to the human spirit's capacity to endure and overcome.

My journey began in a seemingly ordinary household, but beneath the surface lay a torrent of emotions and experiences that would profoundly impact my path. As you read, you will come to understand the complexities of a life marked by both heartache and hope, a life that, at times, mirrored the hapless existence of Charlie Brown. Do you remember Charlie Brown, that lovable yet unlucky character we all used to laugh at? There have been many moments in my life when I felt exactly like him—alone, defeated, and certain that if something could go wrong, it would find its way to me.

My family history was characterized by chronic dysfunction, including persistent dishonesty, extramarital affairs, substance abuse, and neglect. As I navigated through my early years, the sense of isolation and misfortune only grew stronger. I often felt like a shadow, moving through life unnoticed and unloved. My attempts to find solace in the small pockets of joy were often overshadowed by the relentless challenges that seemed to follow me. The innocence of childhood was tainted by the harsh realities that I faced, and despite my best efforts to remain hopeful, the weight of my circumstances began to take its toll.

When I reached the tender age of four or younger, the cracks in my world started to widen, heralding the onset of a series of events that would irrevocably alter the course of my life. My world began to crumble. My cousin, Jim, was ten years my senior when he began molesting me, and rape at ten years old. My childhood was marred by confusion and pain, and the innocence that typically defines those early years was not something I was privileged to experience. The revelation of my abuse at the hands of my cousin, Jim, was just the beginning of a series of traumatic events that would overshadow my formative years.

As I grew older, the lines between safety and fear became increasingly blurred. Despite the disorder at home, I still tried to find normalcy in the little things that other children enjoyed. But the joy was fleeting, and shadows from my past constantly loomed over me.

At school, I struggled to connect with my peers, often feeling like an outsider. The weight of my family secrets and the abuse I endured made it difficult for me to trust anyone. I longed for a sense of belonging, but instead, I was met with further isolation and misunderstanding.

During these years, my behavior became increasingly erratic. I sought out friendships with boys, not because I felt a kinship with them, but because I couldn't relate to other girls. Being a tomboy allowed me to hide my vulnerabilities behind a rough exterior, but inside, I was still the scared and wounded child who desperately sought love and acceptance.

Looking back, it is clear that my childhood was a complex interplay of seeking normalcy amidst a backdrop of heartache and survival. The scars of those years have left an indelible mark, shaping me into the person I am today.

The years that followed were a whirlwind of chaos and despair. The discovery that my father was not truly mine at eleven years old was a shattering revelation that deepened my sense of alienation and confusion. Dealing with this new reality, combined with an already tumultuous home life, drove me to seek solace in destructive behaviors.

I had these nightmares that frightened me so much that I would wake up crying uncontrollably and terrified. The nightmare was always the same. It was about wolves that chased me into darkness, into swamps, and I would awake suddenly as they were about to strike.

After having a pool put in, our dad built what was supposed to be a playroom for us—but it ended up with a pool table, a pinball machine, a massive bar, and even a keg of beer. To make matters easier, our neighbors had a keg hidden in their backyard, so sneaking a drink from the age of twelve was never a problem.

I was just 18 when I met my future husband, Russ. I was young, inexperienced, and unsure about love. Russ stood out—he talked about God often, and I felt safe with him in a way I hadn’t before. When we announced our engagement just four months later, people assumed I was pregnant. “How else could someone like me land someone so handsome?” they’d whisper. But I wasn’t pregnant—I was just searching for a sense of belonging. The truth is, I really didn’t want to get married, but my relatives kept telling me I’d never find anyone as good as Russ.

Once Russ and I became intimate, my past began to surface in ways I didn’t understand. The nightmares returned—the wolves chasing and attacking me. Buried memories of being molested and raped crept back, stirring fear and confusion. I didn’t know how to cope. Russ wasn’t the problem; we were both too young, and I was carrying too much pain.

We worked hard to keep our marriage together, but it was a struggle. In 1985, we welcomed a beautiful baby boy, Kevin. Holding him for the first time, I promised myself—and him—that I would protect him from harm and be the best mother I could. Yet deep down, I wondered how I could guide him when I didn’t even understand my own roots.

My biological father, Louis Dragicevich, called me for the first time when Kevin was three years old. He wanted to meet. I was nervous but excited. Louis had always known about me—he knew where I went to school, when I graduated, when I married, and when Kevin was born. Yet he waited until Kevin’s birth to reach out. Meeting him was like looking in a mirror; I finally saw where I got my hands, my smile, and my traits. Louis and his family were kind to me, and for the first time, I could tell Kevin about his family roots.

After Russ went to Officer School, our world began to unravel. He started an affair, shattering the one promise he swore he’d never break—that he would never be like my father, who had betrayed my mother repeatedly. Then, not long after I endured the heartbreak and pain of an ectopic pregnancy, he chose to go overseas. I pleaded with him to stay, to be there when I needed him most. But he walked away anyway.

It was Easter, and I was at a park with my family, watching Kevin play. Suddenly, I saw a familiar face—Jim, my cousin. Panic set in. My body shook, my mouth went dry, and the old, familiar fear from my childhood resurfaced. My mother told me Jim had been living with her after being released from Patton State Hospital. She dismissed my fears, brushing off his past as a "crush" I’d had on him. “It’s cute,” she said, oblivious—or unwilling—to see the truth. When I tried to explain that Jim had molested and raped me, she refused to listen. I grabbed Kevin, left, and cried all the way home. I began drinking every night to numb the pain. I hated myself for breaking my promise to Kevin. I was drowning, and I didn’t know how to save myself.

Ann Wilkinson entered my life in a week after Easter 1988. The day was simply stunning; spring had arrived, and I cherished the scent and sound of the ocean. Ann was graceful, standing around five feet tall, with flowing blond hair and lovely blue eyes. She lived just a few houses away from me. Her husband, Tim, a Marine Corps officer, and his wife were also from Minnesota, the same as Russ. Interestingly, despite living in the officers' new housing on Camp Pendleton, I never really noticed Ann or her husband. They seemed to fade into the background for me at that time. My life was about to turn upside down.

When Russ came home in June, Ann and I cherished our daytime moments together, but we always felt the need to see each other before bed. We often took long walks along the beach, eventually sitting down to watch the waves and talk. On the walk home, I felt more confused than ever. When I returned, Russ and Kevin were asleep on the couch. I gently placed a blanket over them and went to bed alone, where I cried myself to sleep.

As the days passed, I found myself resenting Russ's return. I couldn’t spend time with Ann as freely as I used to, which put a strain on our friendship. The only moments we could find to be together were when Tim and Russ were at work. Every evening after dinner, Ann and I would continue our daily walk along the beach, relishing the rarity of our solitude. Tim and Russ kept the kids occupied during those times.

During our walks, Ann often confided in me about her unhappiness with her marriage and how she couldn't stand being intimate with Tim any longer. I understood her feelings all too well, as I was unhappy in my own marriage. My distance from Russ had begun long before Ann entered my life; he had cheated on me multiple times, and I had suffered the heartbreak of losing two of our dogs because he ignored my concerns. One of those dogs, Kelly, had been with me since childhood, and her loss left a deep scar.

My feelings changed immediately. I was intensely attracted to her, though I did not understand why. It was a sensation unlike anything I had ever felt before—sudden, consuming, and impossible to ignore. Ann and I began an affair, and the guilt was overwhelming. Despite that, I fell deeply in love with her. We spent every day together, talking endlessly about our marriages and the lives we felt trapped within. Eventually, we made the painful decision to leave our husbands and build a life together. Then Ann discovered she was pregnant. Even so, she told me she still planned to be with me. Believing in the future we had imagined, I left Camp Pendleton to find work and a place for us to live.

After leaving Russ, Ann abandoned me without explanation. She cut me off completely, leaving me with no home, no job, and no answers. The truth of Ann's actions remains elusive, locked away in her silence. Now, thirty-seven years later, the questions linger, though I've formed my own conjectures. Perhaps pregnancy played a role, or familial disapproval, or maybe she believed forcing a separation was the only way to truly let go. The reasons remain unknown. What is clear is the profound cruelty of her actions, a stark contrast to the person I believed her to be during those intense four months. Yet, time has allowed for a measure of peace. I can finally say that I forgive her. What I do believe is Ann really loved me. You can't fake that. The sad thing is she has had to live with this lie where I am free of all lies. I sincerely hope she has found happiness and health in her life. Ultimately, despite the pain, she gave me the experience of my first true love.

With nowhere else to go, I moved back in with my mother. She insisted that Jim had changed. Despite my fear, I focused on survival—rebuilding my life, saving money, and keeping Kevin safe. Everything unraveled when my mother revealed she was having an affair with Jim. The woman who preached Christianity and condemned me for being a lesbian was now involved with her nephew—the same man who had molested and raped me. The betrayal was beyond comprehension.

Months later, my mother left town for a funeral, leaving me alone in the house. That night, Jim returned. For five and a half hours, he brutalized me. He raped me, beat me, and strangled me. I truly believed I would not survive. In those moments, I did not pray for myself—I prayed for Kevin. I begged God to give me one more chance to be the mother he deserved. Somehow, Jim let me go, and I made my way to the police.

Jim was arrested and later sentenced to twelve years in prison as part of a plea deal. But the betrayal did not end there. My mother continued to see him and ultimately married him while he was incarcerated. That realization was devastating. I understood then that my mother would never be capable of giving me the love or protection I needed.

In time, I found that love elsewhere. I met Cheryl—a woman who became my partner, my strength, and my best friend. Together, we built a life rooted in stability and care. We raised Kevin and her daughter, Lindsey, as siblings. Cheryl’s family embraced me fully, offering the unconditional love I had searched for my entire life. I became a private investigator, dedicating my work to helping others so they would never feel the isolation and fear I once knew.

Throughout my career, I have gone where secrets live—uncovering truths others work hard to hide. My most notable work in the entertainment industry involved exposing the Motion Picture Association of America. That journey began when Academy Award–nominated documentary director Kirby Dick and producer Eddie Schmidt cast me as myself in This Film Is Not Yet Rated, a groundbreaking investigation into the MPAA’s film ratings system and its profound influence on American culture.

The film received significant press attention, much of it centered on my role as a private investigator. I was tasked with identifying the members of the ratings and appeals boards—an opaque and deliberately hidden process. The work was challenging, revealing, and deeply unsettling. My collaboration with Kirby Dick continued on subsequent documentaries, including Outrage and The Invisible War, projects that examined systemic injustice and abuse. Each investigation reinforced my commitment to truth and accountability.

In recent years, I transformed my corporation into a nonprofit organization. This shift was deeply personal. Having endured profound isolation and trauma, I understand how overwhelming it can be to seek help without resources or guidance. My mission has been to advocate for victims, amplify their voices, and provide the support I once needed but could not find.

My journey as a female private investigator has been marked by hardship and resilience, by loss and purpose. It is a path driven by an unrelenting pursuit of truth and justice and by a commitment to protecting others from the harm I survived. I suffer from PTSD, but it does not define me. It is something I carry—not who I am.

Today, I no longer see myself as a victim. My past shaped me, but it does not define me. I have built a family grounded in love, understanding, and support—a family that healed the wounds my childhood left behind. I remind myself daily that I am worthy of love, happiness, and peace.

And now, I finally have all three.