the “No prompt” prompt

Therapy

I told myself I would never go back to therapy after having a male therapist who was a complete predator when I was just a teenager.

He broke my trust at a time when I didn’t need judgment or manipulation — I needed guidance, safety, and help.

As I got older, those feelings stayed strong.

Fuck therapy.

Fuck talking about my feelings.

I convinced myself I would never sit in front of another therapist again.

Then 15 years later, I found myself in the worst mental state I had ever been in.

I had just left a domestic violence relationship with my young child.

I was living in a shelter, lonely as hell, crying myself to sleep every night, mentally drowning while trying to survive for my child.

An advocate told me, “I think you should give therapy another try.”

I immediately shut it down.

“I don’t know about that. I have literal PTSD from my past experience.”

But eventually, I pushed through my fear and signed up.

It was telehealth — Zoom video calls.

From the very beginning, I knew she wasn’t my person.

Still, I tried. I wanted so badly for someone to help me process the chaos in my head.

But after every session, I felt angry.

Not relieved. Not heard. Angry.

I felt like she didn’t actually listen to me.

Everything felt scripted.

“Try making a list of what you do in a day.”

“Try not to focus on the domestic violence and focus on your future.”

What people don’t understand is domestic violence changes you.

It becomes part of your story, part of your nervous system, part of the way you move through life.

You don’t just “stop thinking about it” because someone tells you to.

I went to about five sessions before I finally stopped going.

Then I found a new therapist.

And for the first time, I understood what people meant when they said, “You have to find your person.”

The moment I met her, I felt comforted.

Safe.

Seen.

She let me talk without interrupting me.

She let me repeat myself over and over until the pain didn’t feel so sharp anymore.

She never rushed me through my healing.

She taught me that bad days don’t erase progress.

She taught me to stop being so cruel to myself.

She taught me grace.

I’ve been seeing her for over a year now, and I can honestly say I’ve grown so much with her in my corner.

I’ve cried to her, ranted to her, broken down in front of her — and somehow she always helps me find my way back to myself.

For the longest time, I thought therapy would never be safe for me again.

Now I know the right therapist can help rebuild parts of you that trauma tried to destroy.

And for that, I will forever be grateful

“a Letter to my son”

My sweet boy,

you came into this world with the gentlest heart —

the kind that makes strangers smile,

the kind that notices when someone is hurting,

the kind that loves loudly and purely.

Your laugh could brighten the darkest room,

and your soul carried a softness this world did not deserve to harden so soon.

You should have only known safety.

You should have only known bedtime stories, scraped knees, and carefree childhood days.

Instead, you witnessed pain no child should ever see.

You stood trembling, crying for help, begging for the person who was supposed to protect us to stop hurting your mom.

And when that pain turned toward you, a piece of my heart broke forever.

But even through fear, you were brave.

Even through trauma, you never lost your kindness.

Through therapy, sleepless nights, confusion, and years of healing, you still chose love.

You became my voice when I had none left.

You became my reason when I felt destroyed.

Because of you, we found freedom.

Because of you, we now wake up in peace instead of fear.

My sweet boy, none of what happened was ever your fault.

You deserved softness.

You deserved protection.

And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you always know how deeply loved, admired, and cherished you are.

You did not let trauma define you.

You survived it.

And somehow, through it all, you never stopped loving me.

“Weather”

As the weather warms up, I’ve been reflecting on how difficult this transition is for me. While many people look forward to the summer, I find myself feeling incredibly anxious about the upcoming heat and the pressure to wear seasonal clothing like shorts and tank tops.

I have worked hard on my mental health and have successfully built a life free from abuse, but I realize I still struggle significantly with my body image. After years of being degraded and judged, I am not yet comfortable in my own skin. I find myself wanting to hide in bulky sweatshirts and jeans, even when it’s hot, because I am constantly worried about how others see me.

I want to enjoy being outside with my kids without feeling the need to stay indoors or hide under layers of clothing. I know I deserve to feel confident, and I want to work through these feelings so they don't consume my entire summer.

“Knife”

Why don’t you file a PFA, you ask?

Because I do not want to go to court and see his face. I don’t want to defend my case, when I am already riddled with self-doubt from months of gaslighting, manipulation, and questioning. I know I was abused, but I am also not yet convinced. Perhaps it would have been clearer if he held a knife to my throat – perhaps that would bring me more clarity. Instead, he bought me a knife. He placed it on the counter where I wouldn’t miss it. When I asked him why, he told me he got it for me so I could defend myself against intruders.

When I looked at him with confusion, he wondered why I was so uncomfortable receiving gifts. The knife was expensive. It was from Japan. “Is it not good enough?” he asked. This eventually turned into “why aren’t you more grateful for everything I buy you?’

Well, I didn’t think I needed this knife. I never asked him for a knife. I never said I couldn’t defend myself. And the irony was – the man living in my house, gifting me with the knife to defend myself…well, he was the intruder. He shoved his way into my home. He bought me all the gifts any girl could ever want. Every day I would come home to gifts that I didn’t ask for, and I would get slightly more uncomfortable. He told me I wasn’t grateful enough. He told me I would never find another partner who would spoil me as much as he did. He told me I had a closed heart. That he didn’t think I could ever love anyone, if I couldn’t love him. He told me I was broken.

Sometimes, I think about how much clearer it all would have been if he had held that knife to my throat.

“shitty parent idkkk”

My father was a terrible alcoholic man. 

In childhood, he was a lunatic out all night, I would get calls as a 12 year old girl from bars saying your dad's been arrested, or your dad is outside fighting, can you send your older brother to come get him. As I got older and was able to drive, it was the same shit. Come pick up your dad. He was never a father I needed and wanted. He was always angry & especially first thing in the mornings, when he was sober. He put me in situations as a child no child should ever have to be in. He never had a place for us to call home, never had time to cook dinner, my dad the man who was suppose to protect me -- didn't protect me at all. He protected himself, and his alcohol bottles & his bar friends, but not his own flesh and blood. I've always wondered why he was like that. But as I grow older & wiser & more clear minded I don't give a fuck why he is or was like that. He wasn't a father, he was my first abuser mentally, emotionally & physically.

My mind will never fully heal from the bullshit he put me through as a child. I'm trying-- really I am. But sometimes it just hits like a ton of bricks like why me?? Why did I have to have a monster as a parent. 

As a grown ass woman, I could NEVER treat my kids they way I was treated as a child. I'm thankful I can raise my boys with grace & love & a safe place, where they are fed, bathed, & have clean clothes and a warm bed. He taught me how NOT to parent, so I guess I am grateful for that. 

9 years of no contact with my own father. It doesn't get easier-- the memories just keep coming back, & making it more clear why I never want my children around that monster. 

“Domestic Violence”

Domestic violence 

So easily people can say -

Just leave that man.

You can do so much better.

You don't deserve that.

But where are the people who actually push you to leave an abusive person? Who actually help you get out of a dangerous situation? Who will show you and help you so it doesn't seem so scary.

I spent 6 years with a man who abused me, sexually, mentally, and physically.. 

It's not easy leaving, it feels like you are going to lose your life just trying to walk out the door some days living with an abuser. It's walking to the kitchen and getting accused of having another man in the house and the abuser thinking you are having sex with an imaginary person in the kitchen, when you just went to get a glass of water. 

It's taking a shower, and instantly getting the oh who are you getting clean for? Who are you going to have sex with.

It's not being able to even go to the grocery store without being accused of something. 

It's getting stripped searched butt ass naked making sure no one else touches you and you don't have a thing hidden on you. 

It's getting illegal drugs pressured for you to use, even though you don't want to. 

It's hiding your face hoping those kicks don't hit your face. 

It's losing concussions after being strangled 

And finally, it's enough-- you make that call. Crying, scared, not knowing if you would even make it to a "safe" place. 

Waiting to hear from a Domestic violence advocate if you made the criteria to go into a safe house with your young child. Those 2 hours waiting, were so gut wrenching, no one was helping, no one reached out it was me and my little boy in a new environment away from the abuse but still so scared. Still crying myself to sleep, still worrying if I was safe. And honestly I never felt safe in that domestic violence shelter. No one talks about that.

Everyone thinks oh they are safe, they are good. The mental bullshit you go through just to keep your bed at a shelter is fucking insane. I woke up most mornings thinking ok, am I going to be existed today? Is someone going to go fucking crazy and I have to hide me & my child in my room for hours, like I had to with my literal fucking abuser?! Shelters are safer to and extent. But no one wants to hear the real, raw experience of someone who has lived it. Waking up to weirdos knocking on my bedroom door asking for things, other people's abusers literally showing up to the safe house? What the fuck. How am I suppose to feel safe there? People using drugs there, people who would steal what little food you had out of the fridge that had your name on it. I never felt safe!! It's still very traumatic to me, I relive that place so much it feels like I was there 2 months ago, but it was almost 2 years ago. I talk about it so much, and it never seems get lighter. Domestic violence is traumatic, it's fucking real & people don't take it as serious as it should be. 

“Egg Shell Effect”

My body has learned very thoroughly how to survive.

Two years later, the danger may be gone, but my nervous system tells me "stay alert just in case."

The egg shell feeling-- the quick glance over my shoulder.

The way a small shift in someone's tone can pull me back into the old fear---

I know it's all part of healing, and not proof that I am broken.

It doesn't stay vivid forever.

It softens, slowly, and unevenly. 

My body is literally relearning what safety feels like.

One day I won't flinch, I won't scan room, I won't have to brace myself.

I'm not "behind" in healing or failing. 

I'm still unwinding something that threatened my life.

And the fact I'm still here asking if it gets better; just proves I'm moving towards the answer, yes it does.