Digital Marketer. Freelance Writer. Personal Blogger
As I write this, I’m sitting in front of the altar in the sanctuary of my church—the church I attend and the church where I work. Twenty-four hours ago, I told a pastor and close friend that there are some days when I walk into this building I call home and feel like I can’t …
“Abandonment!” He exclaimed in the middle of our safety planning. “That’s your trigger! Whenever you feel abandoned or alone, you start to panic, start to relive the trauma, start to become suicidal.” Which makes sense when you know how the story ended. They say that speaking your truth allows for healing, that giving words to …
a very short story She didn’t believe in ghosts. At least not in the say ‘boo’, spirit without a body, walk through walls type way. She believed in flashbacks and nostalgia, that trauma could be passed down through generations. She saw her father’s father’s father every time her parents argued. Thuds and echoes of anger …
They take your phone away, lock it up with the rest of your belongings. You can’t have them in the Psych ward. But they do have ginger ale and water; graham crackers and ice cream; visiting hours and showers. They also have a tv. But there’s only so many times you can watch Chopped before …
finding the will to live amidst the trauma The first thing I learned in therapy was to validate myself–validate the past versions of me that were hurt, validate the parts of myself that are hurting now; another thing I learned while completing the ‘Emotional Regulation’ section of DBT theory, designed to help manage the effects …
The coolness of the bathroom floor, a stark contrast to the sweaty guys surrounding me. We had been like this for fifteen minutes: me, lying on the ground, clothes askew; them, forcing their way into me, on me, around me. 10 hands tracing my body, forcing their way inside. I remember the way it felt: …
I forgave myself today, kneeling at the altar. You can’t move forward if you’re angry at the past– angry at yourself for things that are not your fault, for relapses you could’ve controlled if you had just. . . just . . . re a c h e d out, for relationships you purposefully sabotaged …
The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence.- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar Growing up, I was always told to use my words, but every time I opened my mouth, I was afraid the earth was going to swallow me whole. I was afraid of people telling me no–no, …