#healingchildhoodtrauma
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My childhood buried me.I grew up above it. I learned to make breakfast,keep appointments,laugh at the right moment. Underneath,a little girl waitedwith the things she could not tell. For years, I called this being well.Nothing hurtif I did not go near it. But memory has its own seasons. A smell. A doorway.The particular silenceafter someone…
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The Child Who Was Waiting for God There are things that happened to children that seem to have no proper place in time. Too early for a child. Too late for anyone to notice. Too long before anyone came. You grow older, but the crime remains the same age. The child inside you is still…
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There are wounds that do not bleed. They simply hollow. A child survives by becoming smaller than the pain. She learns to leave certain rooms inside herself locked and unvisited. Years pass. She grows. She laughs. She works. She marries. She bears children. Yet somewhere beneath the ordinary movements of life remains the terrible suspicion…
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I spent years trying not to feel. Not just pain. Joy, too. Longing. Grief. Love. Wonder. The whole unruly mess of being human. I learned early that some feelings seemed too dangerous to touch. Trauma teaches you that. Addiction reinforces it. Before I ever put a needle in my arm, I was already looking for…
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There is a peculiar kind of silence that settles in the spaces between what was and what will be. Not absence, but suspension. A corridor without doors. A train station at midnight. A life paused mid-sentence. These are the liminal spaces, and most people rush through them like fugitives. I have learned to stand still.…
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It seems a lot of the struggle in the Christian life comes down to one question: who is actually carrying the weight of change? A lot of people are trying to change themselves for God instead of letting God change them. Self-reliance says: I will fix myself. I will control myself. I will make myself…
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Showing Up Without a Net There was a time when the wound was not a metaphor. It was a secret. A child’s body carrying what it should never have had to carry. Sexual abuse & physical does something violent to your sense of order. It scrambles trust. It teaches you that love can harm you…
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Life isn’t random to me. It’s a training ground. I’ve come to see that God designed it to shape my character, not to keep me comfortable. Every day puts choices in front of me. Some are obvious, most are small. None of them are neutral. Each one trains my will. I either move toward the…
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The closer I draw near to Jesus, the more embarrassed I am by the things I once called freedom. I spent years mistaking chaos for creativity. I thought intensity meant depth. I thought wreckage was proof I was alive. That’s what childhood teaches you when love is unstable and safety is conditional. You learn to…
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Some of us once believed God arrived only with the sunlight after the storm, when the air smelled of renewal and the heart felt less bruised. We imagined Him as the bright answer, the triumphant conclusion, the moment when strength returned and our faces were once again suitable for the world. But His footsteps are…