Running my fingers over the scars, I close my eyes.
This passage from my memoir "Cult Child" discusses a near-death experience I had when I was five years old.
We trauma survivors can have a little habit. Avoidance. I know. I’ve been there. For many years I burrowed myself into every other person and/or project that distracted my mind away from myself. I was so frightened by what I had to face in myself; the pain, the anger, the memories of a tortured childhood, … Continue reading It Starts Inside
I used to harbor a lot of hate toward my mother. Let me tell you something. Hate only hurts yourself and others. It is not a shield. It comes with no solutions. It is fueled by anger and should only be felt righteously; such as HATING child rapists. In my mind the only perspective I … Continue reading Healing Yourself Heals the World
This past decade has been filled with many turns in the bumpy road I have traveled. I have pushed through deep depressions and sad realizations about this human existence. I have absorbed and grown my mindfulness and ability to receive and give love. I have waded through dissociative disorder peaks, organizing the many compartments of … Continue reading The Eye Of the Mother
I have dissected new sections of pain which remain in the hidden spaces of my brain.
Skeletons remain in the spaces beneath the pain. My brain becomes a seismograph of moving timelines and opportunities to rewind. I enter the dark caverns armed. This is no place for charm or niceties. This is a war to be fought by a single army. I am one with what was formed. I go quiet … Continue reading Skeletons Remain
As I have lived my own survivorship and spent the last few years deeply connecting with trauma survivors, I see three distinct phases of the journey. Victim | Survivor | Thriver (and for some, Advocacy/Warriorship) I think one of the most difficult breaks in the healing process is moving from the victim to survivor state. … Continue reading Victim To Survivor To Thriver: You Will Do It!
I can be like a hound dog, occasionally distracted by attractive scents, sniffing successfully until something redirects me.
He thought he was a part of a loving church, until Jane Whaley arrived and turned his life into rubble.
by Vennie Kocsis I don't quite understand these constant holidays, dedicated to moms and dads and bunnies and love. I see them as marketing scams, a way to boost economy almost every month, by throwing in a Holiday. But hey, maybe I'm bitter. On these days I am reminded of my absent mother. See, not … Continue reading Motherless On Mother’s Day