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This weekend was filled with simple things—family, sunflowers, blueberry buckets— and somewhere in the middle of it, Peace and Joy walked beside me again.

The brutality isn't just what he did to me. It's that I had to become someone I never wanted to be.

He called me Kitten, soft, sweet, and easy to control. For a while, I played the part, quiet and grateful for scraps of affection. But my voice was never gone. It was hypnotized.

It didn’t demand my destruction. It didn’t steal my breath. It simply let me be.

Safety is a fundamental human need. I didn't know I needed emotional safety until I fell in love with a man who promised it to me. When that promise dissolved into a bucket of lies, I created it inside of myself.

I miss my sweet, grumpy boy.

I loved him and his dogs so deeply. It didn't have to be this way....

For a long time, I believed I was broken. At twelve, I asked to go to “Fat Camp,” thinking if I could just shrink, I’d finally be enough. I smiled through the shame, but inside was chaos. This is the story of how I stopped trying to disappear, and started creating myself instead.

It wasn't just me who thought so.

Fully stocked pantry, backups of everything... I didn't know what those things really meant.

What happens when your body still craves the person who hurt you? This raw piece explores the somatic aftermath of a trauma bond and how the body remembers touch, even when the mind knows the truth.

After my dad died, I didn’t fall into stillness. I fell into a storm, grieving one kind of loss while surviving another. Only now, in the quiet after, has the weight of his absence truly landed. But so has something else: the quiet strength he passed on. Not in words. In essence. This piece isn’t just about grief. It’s about what lives on. What was quietly left behind. What I carry forward.

When the truth surfaced, it wasn’t just the relationship that ended. It was the reality I thought I was living. This is a story about the wreckage, the reckoning, and the quiet rebuilding of a self I almost lost. Breath by breath. Wave by wave. Back to what was always real.

There comes a moment, quiet, sharp, unmovable, when something inside you finally says no more. For me, it wasn’t the lies I uncovered or even seeing him with someone new. It was when he asked me to be kind.

For a long time, I thought it was me. Too emotional. Too sensitive. Too needy. But now I know the truth: I was drafted into a war I didn’t know existed. What I brought was love, belief, and open-hearted hope. What I received was betrayal. I didn’t deserve a war. No one does.

This wasn’t just heartbreak, it was psychological warfare. I didn’t survive it with grace or ease. I survived it breath by breath, scream by scream, learning to let the fire burn through everything false until only truth remained. This is what it looked like to live through the pain and come out the other side.

He replaced me before the truth even surfaced. But the pain didn’t mean I wasn’t worthy. It just meant I loved deeply. And now, I choose me.

I used to think strength meant pushing through, holding it in, staying silent. But real strength? It was staying when the tears came. Sitting with the girl I once was, holding her hand through the grief. Becoming the woman who could finally say: I am safe. I am loved. I am mine. This is self-love, not just a buzzword, but a sacred practice. This is mastery.

Detaching from him wasn’t just emotional. It was physical. Cellular. A full-body purge of a connection I once thought was love. This is what detoxing from a trauma bond really felt like.

They whispered 'princess.' Hissed 'silver spoon.' But my hands told a different story, not of privilege, but of persistence. I was raised in aisles, not ivory towers."