This isn’t a story I tell because I’ve healed perfectly. It’s one I tell because I’ve survived, and because silence no longer feels like protection. Trauma has a way of breaking time apart – first you endure it, then you spend years trying to understand what it took from you and what it forced you to become.
For a long time, I carried my pain quietly, believing it was easier that way. But healing didn’t begin in silence; it began when I allowed myself to look back without shame, without self-blame, and without minimizing what I went through. This blog is not about glorifying suffering. It’s about honoring survival, naming the wounds, and finding hope in the fact that we are still here and still becoming.
Fourteen months ago, my life cracked open in ways I didn’t understand yet. I didn’t call it a “journey” back then. I called it survival. Healing is not linear, and it certainly isn’t always graceful. Some days I moved forward, some days I fell down, and many days I did both at once. I am still working through it. I don’t have everything figured out, and I don’t believe healing really ends. But it took this much time, this much living, reflecting, and unlearning for me to feel ready to speak. Ready to share not answers but truths.
This blog exists not because I reached the finish line, but because I’ve learned enough along the way to know that growth is possible, even when it feels unbearable. If my experience can offer language, clarity, or hope to someone standing where I once stood, then this story deserves to be told.
If you’ve ever wondering whether the worst moments of your life could ever lead to something meaningful, this space is for you.
Truth After Trauma 