There was a time when I believed I was too broken to ever be healed.
My heart carried trauma I didn’t even have words for—pain from my past, choices I regretted, and wounds from people who were supposed to protect me. I tried to silence the ache with distractions: alcohol, drugs, relationships, pretending I was okay when I wasn’t. But every attempt to numb myself only made the pain come back stronger.
I was stuck in a cycle I didn’t know how to break—lost, unworthy, ashamed, and convinced that healing wasn’t possible for someone like me.
But God didn’t leave me there.
He came and found me right in the middle of my mess and started writing a new story over my life.
This post isn’t about a quick fix or a perfect turnaround. It’s about the slow, grace-filled, Spirit-led healing journey that led me from trauma to truth… from addiction to freedom… from toxic love to the love of Christ.
And if you’re reading this today, I want you to know: you’re not alone—and you are not too far gone.
Where My Trauma Really Began
Trauma doesn’t always start with something huge. Sometimes it begins with something small—something that pricks your heart… and if that prick doesn’t heal, it becomes a deep wound.
I grew up in a small home in a small town in the middle of the ocean. My mom was with my father, but they weren’t married… and they weren’t happy. As far back as I can remember, he would leave for days at a time. Then he’d come back home, they would fight, and my little body would be filled with fear. I remember crying, overwhelmed, my blood pressure rising, feeling sick from all the screaming.
Then the next day, it was like nothing happened.
Until he left again.
That cycle—leaving, chaos, pretending everything was fine—became my definition of “normal.”
I didn’t understand until I was older that this was the beginning of my trauma. I never knew where he went, why he left, or what he was doing. I just knew he would come home either drunk… or, as I now know, high. My mom stayed because she didn’t know her worth, but she was drowning too.
She finally left him when I was 12. But instead of finding peace, she found a man who was even worse.
From One Wound to Another
At first, this new man seemed kind—he bought my mom things, paid bills, and helped in ways my dad never did. But it was all manipulation: a mask for his control, narcissism, and eventually… abuse.
He abused us mentally.
He abused me sexually.
He controlled my mom with fear, and that fear flowed onto us.
We didn’t speak up. We didn’t make waves. We learned survival.
One day I tried to leave to be with a boy, and he said the only way I could go was if he cut my hair. I thought I loved that boy, so I let him cut it. Turns out the boy didn’t feel the same once my hair was gone. That was that.
I ended up living with my sister for a while—she was one of the few who wasn’t afraid of him. She had been kicked out when she was still in high school and had to live with an aunt, but she was doing well for herself. I was proud of her. She gave me safety when I needed it most.
Until my mom called me and asked me to go back to that house. To me it was the house of horror. She advised me if I didn’t come back he would kick her and my younger sister out. It was all put on my shoulders for them to have a roof over their head, and because I loved them and carried the guilt that abused women carry I went back and the abuse just started right back up again until I left at 20 years old.
When I finally told my mom what happened years later in my 30s she said all the right things and acted like she cared, but she never confronted him or anything. That really hurt because I didn’t understand what kind of mom wouldn’t confront someone who hurt her daughter, especially if it was her boyfriend. Someone she trusted. I also didn’t understand why she stayed.
Years later I had a friend at church who I shared my feelings about the situation with because I was still angry and stuck in unforgiveness towards her. She reminded me that my mom had her own issues and damage that she was dealing with which is probably why she never confronted or left him. I realized in that moment that she had her own generational curses brought about by the generations before her.
The Cycle Continues: Toxic Love and Survival Patterns
I escaped the house of horror, but I never escaped the torment of what happened and carried those wounds with me.
I never saw what a healthy man looked like. I never witnessed stable love. So I chose familiar pain over unfamiliar peace. When the only love you’ve known is chaotic or abusive, stability feels foreign.
I met my first son’s father in a strip club. We partied a lot. We drank a lot. We told ourselves we were good together.
Until the day he hit me.
And just like I saw my mom do, I kept going back.
Eventually I got the strength to leave—and God worked it out for my good. My son’s father ended up going to prison for too many DUIs. When he got out, he didn’t want to go back, so he behaved himself. We even learned how to co-parent. That was a blessing and we are still able to coparent today as our son is in his 20s. I have forgiven him for the things he has done, and he has forgiven me, or atleast I think he did. I know now that hurt people hurt people.
Saying Goodbye
One day, over 10 years later after I left home, I got a call from my little sister letting me know my father was dying of brain cancer. All the drugs he did and reckless living brought about the cancer.
That day I decided to go back home and take my kids to meet my father so we could all say goodbye. I had to forgive him for not being there, and for being a bad father. I don’t think he was taught how to be a good father. As we know its all generational.
The last time I saw him before that was when I was 12 years old.
I didn’t really grieve him.
You can’t grieve someone you never truly had.
But I prayed for him. And I believe he found heaven in the end.
The Beginning of My Healing
By the time he passed, God had already been drawing me in.
I was going to church.
I was trying my best to love and live like Jesus.
I was learning what peace felt like.
I was discovering that trauma doesn’t disqualify you from God’s love—it makes you a magnet for His mercy.
This was where God began reshaping my heart, my identity, and my idea of love. This is where my healing began. And I am still healing today.
🌿 If You’re Reading This…
If any part of my story sounds like yours, I want you to hear me:
You are not beyond healing.
You are not too damaged.
You are not your past.
You are not your trauma.
You are not what they did to you.
God is still writing your story.
You can break the patterns you grew up in.
You can heal the wounds no one saw.
You can raise your children differently.
You can walk in the freedom God has for you.
Your trauma may explain your pain,
but it does not have to define your future.
“You are not bound to the patterns you grew up in.”
— Romans 12:2 I will not be conformed to this world but will be transformed by the constant renewal of my mind.
Trauma shapes you.
But God can reshape you.
And once you begin healing, your choices change.
Your standards change.
Your boundaries change.
Your entire life starts aligning with who God created you to be—not what trauma trained you to believe.
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