Finding Our Voice

  I started blogging many years ago, and I found it incredibly helpful to share parts of my life out loud.

By the time I began blogging, I had already cleaned out a lot of shame.

Healing my shame gave me the freedom to speak my truth.

I didn’t have to hide parts of my story anymore.

I could talk about my experiences, my struggles, my growth, and the things I was learning along the way.

For me, blogging became a form of therapy.

Putting my thoughts into words helped me understand them. And sometimes, sharing them with others reminded me that I wasn’t alone.

There is a comment section below my shares.

If something I’ve written touches you, brings something up for you, or makes you think about your own journey, feel free to share your thoughts and feelings.

Sharing our stories is another way we remind each other:

We don’t have to carry everything alone.

Trapped Trauma

 It was a rough morning today.

But perhaps it was also a healing one.

Feelings of helplessness were triggered, and they brought me back to giving birth to both of my children.

I know childbirth is experienced differently by everyone.

For me, it was long and frightening.

I felt alone with my pain, with only a nurse in the room who was not kind to me.

At the time, neither she nor I understood that what I was experiencing could be traumatic.

But this morning, I felt those old feelings again.

The helplessness.

The fear.

The loneliness.

And I felt such compassion for that young woman who had to endure so much pain without feeling safe or supported.

It reminded me of the little girl I once was.

A child alone with feelings that were far too big for her.

Maybe some experiences stay with us in ways we don’t fully understand until much later.

Today, instead of judging that young woman for how she experienced those moments, I can finally sit beside her with compassion.

She was doing the best she could.

And now she doesn’t have to be alone with it anymore. 

Perhaps now it’s time to let the trauma go

The Turtle Wins the Race

 It has taken me many years to understand myself.

For example, I didn’t excel in school when I was younger. I found it difficult to sit through lectures, listen to someone talk, and absorb information that way.

For a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me.

Years later, when I went back to school, something surprising happened.

I did very well.

The teaching was different.

I now understand that I need more than words.

I need to take things in.

To experience them.

To make them my own.

I’ve also learned that, for me, less is often more.

I don’t need to take in everything at once.

I need time to absorb, reflect, and discover what something means to me.

I wasn’t incapable.

I simply learned differently.

Maybe I’ve been a turtle all along.

I may take my time.

I may need to stop and absorb what’s in front of me.

But given the right pace and the right environment, I can go farther than I ever imagined.

Looking for Comfort

 Growing up in my home, there was something very important missing.

Comfort.

My mother didn’t have a nurturing bone in her body.

My father had anger issues. When his anger was triggered, he didn’t ask questions. He didn’t want answers.

He released his rage.

My sister struggled with jealousy. There always seemed to be another lie, another betrayal, another attempt to get me in trouble or hurt me.

And that never really changed throughout our lives.

My brother was mostly gone from the house, out doing what boys did.

But I know now that he was deeply affected too. He struggled with serious drug and alcohol addiction for most of his life.

We were all carrying something.

But as a child, I didn’t understand any of that.

I only knew that I was looking for something I couldn’t find at home.

Comfort.

Someone to say, You’re safe.

Someone to hold me when I was afraid.

Someone to help me understand that I was okay.

Every child has the right to feel safe and loved.

I needed that.

And perhaps I’ve been searching for that comfort, in one form or another, all my life.

Now I wonder about the pain I carry in my body.

Could some part of this pain be connected to a little girl who spent so much of her life without the comfort she needed?

I don’t know.

But I’m willing to listen.

Time to Release

 I’ve probably carried sorrow in my gut since I was a young girl.

But what was the sorrow?

Perhaps it was the sorrow of a child who wanted nothing more than to please her family.

A little girl who wanted to be loved.

To feel safe.

To know she was okay.

But instead of kind words, she heard words that felt threatening.

Words that shook her sense of safety to her core.

Maybe that little girl learned to carry her sorrow quietly.

And perhaps it’s time to tell her:

You don’t have to carry it anymore.

It was never yours to carry.

Maybe now, with love and compassion, we can begin to let it go.

Worthiness

 It’s becoming clearer and clearer to me how the messages of guilt, shame, and blame may have shaped the way I’ve seen myself, my body, and what I feel I deserve.

I’ve done tons of work on myself.

And can honestly say that I love myself today.

But I also can feel that there is still a part of me holding tightly to the pain.

My little girl is deeply afraid of going against what my parents believed.

To her, their beliefs were the truth.

And letting go of them can feel frightening—almost like she is doing something wrong.

But there is a woman here now who knows something that little girl could never have known.

Much of what was projected onto me came from my parents—their own pain, shame, and beliefs about themselves.

I was a child.

I absorbed their messages as truth.

Now it is my turn to gently help that little girl see that she has a choice.

She can still let go of beliefs that were never hers to carry.

I will love her through that fear.

I will support her.

And little by little, we can discover what she believes about herself when she is no longer living by someone else’s rules.