- Growing up in a strict Amish upbringing, I was sheltered from the rest of society
- By 16, I was sneaking out to hang out with boys and smoke cigarettes without my parent’s knowing
- By my early twenties I was an exotic dancer and addicted to crack. I felt like my sheltered upbringing didn’t prepare me for real-world temptations
- In 2004, I was able to turn my life around.
- Naomi Swartzentruber, 44 shares her story….
Tying the straps of my bonnet around my chin, I looked up to my mum.
“Why do we have to wear these?” I asked her, tugging at my plain, long-sleeved dress.
“It’s just our way,” she said.
It was 1988 and I was eight. My family belonged to one of the most conservative subgroups of the Amish, known as the Swartzentrubers.
Every morning, my 11 siblings and I got up before dawn to do chores.
As the fourth oldest, it was my job to carry wood and feed the chickens.
We had no electricity and only cold running water. Our toilet was an outhouse.
We went to a school for Amish kids and could only study up to eighth grade. After that, we worked on the farm.
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On my birthday, my mum came in smiling.
“Happy birthday,” she said.
“Come here,” Dad grinned. He tugged my ear nine times, to signify each year I’d been alive, then sent me off to do my daily chores.
That was it… No presents, no cake.
We were deeply religious and went to church every second Sunday. On the other Sunday we rested.
When I was 13, we got new neighbours at a farm about 1.5km away.
The little girl, Julia*, 11, was fascinated by us and often visited.
I envied her shorts, sandals and painted nails.
We called everyone who wasn’t Amish “English”, and I became curious about their lives.
My siblings and I started sneaking out to watch TV or listen to music at our neighbours’ place, though it was strictly forbidden.
When I was 15, I went to a garage sale and bought jeans, shorts and a t-shirt, which I hid in the barn.
Everything on the outside seemed exciting, even more so because it wasn’t allowed.
A year later, my cousin Ada*, 16, told me she’d been sneaking out to hang out with some local English boys.
“Can I come too?” I asked, thrilled by the thought of it.
“Sure,” she said.
We arranged for them to come and pick us up in the dead of night.
At their houses we drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes, and I learned to hide my hangovers from my family.
I’d never been taught about sex but figured it out when I saw animals mating on the farm.
I ended up losing my virginity to one of the English boys and I’d never felt so wild and free.
One night, I’d hidden a cherry pie in the pantry, which was next to my parents’ bedroom.
As I went to fetch it to take to the English boys’ place, Mum and Dad heard me.
I was halfway to the woods when they ran outside, yelling after me.
“Were you trying to run away?” Dad asked me, furious.
“No, I was going out for a jog because I couldn’t sleep,” I lied.
Afterwards, leaving was all I could think about.
I loved my family but I craved freedom much more than I feared ending up in hell.
Months later, after I’d turned 17, I was picking strawberries in the front yard when an English man named Kevin* walked past.
“Please help me,” I said on a whim. “I want to run away from here.”
“You’re crazy,” he replied, but gave me his phone number anyway.
Two weeks later, I jumped out of a window and hid in an old shed until dawn, then I ran to a neighbour’s house and asked to use their phone.
I called Kevin’s number, and he picked me up.
At first, I lived with his mum and worked as her carer, and then I moved in with Kevin and his wife.
Six months after running away, I went back to see my family.
“Where have you been?” Mum asked, through a crack in the door.
“I couldn’t be Amish anymore,” I told her.
When my younger siblings squealed excitedly at my arrival, she agreed to let me in, as long as I wore my old Amish clothing.
I felt grateful they still let me be a part of their lives and started visiting them.
By 1998, I had moved to a different city with a boyfriend, but when we broke up I wasn’t sure what to do.
My friend Tina* took me to a strip club in town and introduced me to the manager.
“I’m too shy to be a dancer,” I told him.
“Some guys like shy girls,” he replied, smirking.
Tina encouraged me to put on a hot pink bikini and high-heeled boots.
Nervously, I walked towards the pole and tried to copy what I’d seen the dancers do.
Amazingly, after just one performance, I’d made $80 and realised I actually enjoyed it.
I became a professional exotic dancer, but within two years, I was addicted to crack and had turned to prostitution to fund my habit.
Looking back, it was the darkest period of my life.
In 2004, when a client flew me from Michigan to Las Vegas with him for two weeks, I didn’t smoke crack at all. I realised my strict, sheltered childhood had made me naive and easily influenced to try new things… and not all of them were good for me.
I never touched crack again after that.
In time, I moved to LA where I met my partner Nick, 33, an engineer.
We lived together, and when the clubs closed during COVID I stopped dancing.
In 2021, we had our beautiful daughter Stormy* and I became a full-time mum.
I promised myself her upbringing would be different from mine. I’d teach her to explore the world with a degree of caution, and we’d celebrate every Christmas and birthday with presents and joy.
My parents were delighted to meet her, though they don’t condone Nick and I being unmarried, “living in sin”.
In 2023, I published my memoir, The Amazing Adventures of an Amish Stripper. It was so healing to write about everything.
I also document my story now on TikTok @amishinspiration.
While one of my brothers has also left the Amish, most of my family are still practising the conservative lifestyle.
None of them have read my book and, honestly, I don’t want them to. I know they’d be horrified by the choices I’ve made.
But these days, I’m so proud I’ve created a life of peace and freedom and I hope my story inspires others who want to change their lives, too.
*Names have been changed.
