I share my journey of healing from trauma, breaking silence, and reclaiming power. Discover how pain can become purpose and the life you choose next.

“I am not what happened to me. I am what I choose to become.” — Carl Jung

That quote has carried me through some of the darkest and brightest seasons of my life. My past shaped me, but it doesn’t own me. I chose healing, and in that choice, I found my power.

Shattering the Myth of Brokenness

One of the myths I want to shatter right away is that trauma survivors are broken. We are not fragile. We are not damaged goods. We are not defined by what was done to us. Survivors are some of the most resilient, intuitive, and powerful people you’ll ever meet. I’ve walked through fire and rebuilt myself from ashes. What others often see as weakness is actually wisdom earned through survival. I don’t need pity—I need space to rise.

The Moment Everything Changed

My exact turning point came when I could no longer look myself—or my two sons—in the eyes. I had become a stranger to my own reflection, hiding behind survival and silence. The weight of pretending, enduring, and shrinking myself to fit a life that was hurting me—it was suffocating. And when I saw that same pain mirrored in my children’s eyes, I knew I couldn’t pass down the legacy of unspoken wounds. That moment wasn’t just about leaving a marriage. It was about reclaiming my soul, my motherhood, and my right to live fully and freely.

Therapy and Truth

My healing began in therapy. For the first time, I spoke my truth out loud. My therapist didn’t just treat symptoms—he saw beyond the layers of anxiety, depression, and addiction. He asked the questions that reached into places I had never dared to voice. When he asked me, “When did it happen?” I knew exactly what he meant. That moment cracked open decades of silence. I wasn’t speaking as a victim anymore. I was speaking as a woman reclaiming her voice.

What I Had to Unlearn

To heal, I had to unlearn three lies that lived deep in my bones:

• That I was trash.
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• That I was only strong if I hid my wounds.
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• That chaos was just how life had to be.
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I now know my scars are proof of survival, not signs of weakness. I know peace is possible, and I have the power to choose it.

What Power Looks Like Now

Today, peace looks like the sanctuary of my own home—the first one I ever created for myself and my sons. Power looks like boundaries—the kind I once felt guilty for setting, but now protect everything I value. Safety looks like love—the unconditional kind I receive from my children and my dogs, Bruce and Patsy.

Power no longer means control or survival. Power is presence. Power is truth. Power is choice.

From Survivor to Guide

Out of my journey came the Pain to Power™ Journal Series, including Is Love Even Real? I created these journals because I know what it feels like to be lost in your own story. I wanted to offer more than prompts—I wanted to offer a path. A safe space where women could write without judgment, reflect without fear, and begin to reclaim their voices.

I wrote them for the woman who’s ready to stop surviving and start rising. For the woman who’s ready to believe her story matters. For the woman who’s ready to turn her pain into power.

3 Steps to Begin Turning Your Pain into Power

If you’re wondering where to start, here are three simple steps I took—and that you can begin today:

1. Start Writing Your Truth
   ​ Even if it’s just a few sentences in a notebook, begin by putting your feelings on paper. Writing creates space between you and the pain—it helps you see your story instead of being swallowed by it.
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2. Challenge One Old Belief
   ​ Ask yourself: What is one belief about myself that came from my trauma—but isn’t actually true? Write it down, and then write a new belief to replace it. For example: “I am broken” becomes “I am healing and becoming stronger every day.”
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3. Claim One Small Boundary
   ​ Pick one simple boundary you can set this week to protect your energy. It might be saying no to something that drains you, or giving yourself permission to rest. Boundaries are acts of self-respect, and each one builds your power.
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To the Woman Still in Silence

If you’re still in silence, I see you. I know what it’s like to carry the weight of a story you’re afraid to speak. I know how heavy it feels to believe that no one will understand—or that your pain makes you weak.

But you are not broken. You are not too far gone. There is life on the other side of this pain. There is joy waiting for you. And when you are ready, your voice will come—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s yours.

My story is proof that the past doesn’t define us—what we choose next does.
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