denial
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We’ve been resurfacing the posts our readers have returned to again and again. The ones most shared, most saved, and most quietly passed along. Not because they chase attention, but because they tell the truth plainly and without permission. What follows is one of those pieces. It tells the truth about what happens when lies…
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THEIR GRIP DOESN’T. The abuse didn’t end when I grew up. It evolved. It didn’t pack up and leave when I turned 18. It changed tactics. The predators learned early that physical access has an expiration date. Emotional access? Psychological access? That’s where the real damage is done. The grooming scripts don’t stop because the…
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They always have a backstory, don’t they? Some excuse tucked into the folds of their history— a troubled childhood, a lonely adolescence, an addiction, a trauma (a trauma just like mine, funny how that works). And so the world wrings its hands. Poor man. He didn’t mean it. He was hurting. He needs help. They…
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On the question of fear: Does anxiety come to you when you think of fear? If you can hear what I am saying with this, listen up. The crime of incest usually starts when children are very young. They are groomed early and often. This ensures they won’t be sharing their story with anyone and…
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Oh, my love, I know. The world is a dark theater, and the players lie so beautifully, so effortlessly, that you begin to wonder if truth is just a ghost story we tell to comfort ourselves. The cynics whisper in your ear like tired prophets, saying: Nothing changes. The liars win. The strong devour the…
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Living through all the evil in my childhood should have set me up with a clear vision to see evil as an adult, spot the deceiving way of an abuser and recognize their lies. Right? Wrong! My mind had been poisoned so severely that my vision was skewed and I could not predict a true…
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Holidays can be deeply challenging for those of us who carry the scars of childhood trauma. The world seems filled with images of joyful families, while our memories may be of pain, neglect, or brokenness. For many, the idea of tradition feels like a painful reminder of what was missing. But the beauty of the…
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Here, in the gauze of denial, a soul softens, losing its edges, its bite, its clarity. Evil sits across the room, legs crossed, whispering sweetly—seduction in its tone. It calls itself necessity, then compromise, then, finally, your closest friend. Oh, but what becomes of the spine when it bends too often? When the first “no”…
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I have always thought that pruning the soul is like cutting away dead branches in the heart’s garden—those twisted limbs, heavy with lies and betrayal, the ones that choke the light, the truth. I once believed in people the way the morning believes in the sun. But when they let me down, when they tore…
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I still get stuck in the belief that my parents weren’t that bad. I was raped before I turned four and my mother was an active participant. But a child has to believe that the person put in charge of taking care of them is good, right? What else can a child believe. So, day…