Come meet me!

Hey guys! I am excited to finally be planning the next conference. It will be in Rigby, Idaho (by Idaho Falls) on Jan. 9th, 2020. Thank you for your patience and love the last few months as I adjusted and recovered. I will add in this post a video of some of the fights we had this summer. Also I will link here tickets to the event for my non profit A Reason to Stand. It is not a big auditorium like we have been using lately, so don't wait to reserve your seat. Can't wait to gather and see everyone again. .... ....

What does betrayal feel like?

What does betrayal feel like? Let's talk about betrayal trauma for a minute, since none of us like to. Have you gone through betrayal? Do you find yourself stuck in those emotions and fears? Has it made you feel alone?



Well I just want you to know you are not. And this was not your fault or even about you. It was about them. Time to give yourself permission to move forward and start loving yourself and trusting again.

A Reason to Stand: Fighting for Me

Arizona . . . We are coming for you. See you in 12 days. January 21st. Gilbert.

For tickets and info about the presenters visit A Reason to Stand.

Sending light

I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. She goes by the name of Mrs. Smith. Her story and her mission have helped many see light in a dark moment, to help others remember they are never alone. 

Sending Light

My name is Mrs. Smith. It's not my real name. It's my pen name. I am the woman behind the The Light Keepers @thelightkeepers Instagram account. Three years ago my life as I knew it drastically changed. In an extremely traumatic way, I learned that my husband had been living a double life of sexual addiction. 

Early on in our marriage I had discovered that my husband was struggling with pornography. I didn't know then that it was an addiction, and neither did he. Over the years there were times I found pornography he had been viewing. Each time it was very traumatic and I wondered what I was doing wrong. Why wasn't I enough sexually for him? 

We married young and I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that someone could be addicted to pornography or sex. Several years into our marriage we learned more about sexual addiction and were lead to therapy and 12-step groups. This felt like an answer to my prayers. I began to learn more about the addiction. I learned that I didn't cause the acting out and I couldn't stop it. My husband appeared to really want to change and heal. 

Many years went by and we had several more children. We had struggles like any other couple: job loss, struggling to make ends meet at times, and small arguments. On a whole our family and marriage were happy. We did have some really challenging struggles as well: discovering that my husband had other addictions (food and gambling) and the grief of a sudden death of a close family member. 

Through all this my husband was supportive and loving. We sought therapy. We sought spiritual guidance. In my mind we were healing and making progress. My husband and I enjoyed being with each other. Our daily interactions were happy and loving. We read marriage and parenting books together. We had fun date nights. We had family vacations. Our holidays were happy and meaningful. Life was good. We had a happy marriage. I felt content and blessed. Life was far from easy, but in my mind we were facing our battles, head on, together. 

In September of 2013 we moved to a new state. I was thrilled with this move, getting to live in my dream location. My husband had a great job opportunity and I thought we were going to be putting down roots to raise our children. Of course I didn't think life was going to be perfect or easy, but I felt like we had worked through some extremely hard things and after years of struggle I felt like l was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Just a few short weeks after moving into our new home I made the horrific and traumatic discovery that my husband had not only never been free from his pornography addiction, but that the acting out had escalated. My husband was on a business trip when I made this discovery. I had children sleeping in my bed. I began crying and uncontrollably screaming. I could see the fear and confusion on my children's faces but I couldn't stop. 

I wanted to stop so badly but the trauma had hijacked my body. It was as if I had literally been hit by a bus. I remember trying to calm myself down but nothing would work. I finally was able to calm down enough to turn on a movie for my children and then I began to pace the house and sob and sob and sob. I didn't know anyone in this new place where we were living. I had no friends. I had never felt more alone. 

The next morning my dad flew into town to take care of me and my children. I don't even know how I made it to the airport to pick him up. I only remember falling apart in his arms. 

My husband and I immediately started therapy. Through an act of God I was led to a phenomenal therapist who I would come to learn would be an integral part of my healing journey. My husband sought recovery and help for himself through individual therapy and 12-step groups. 

I too began working a 12-step program. I began working with a sponsor and working the 12-steps. Each one of them was a life changing experience for me. As time went on, my husband eventually came forward with his full history of sexually acting out. This was horribly painful and caused me significant trauma. I really don't know how to describe the fire that was lit inside of me to fight for my healing and recovery. I had never wanted something more in my life--not to save my marriage but to personally heal from the damage his addiction had brought into my life.

Through therapy I began to learn more about family systems, and my fight and passion grew more as I learned ways I could be a "generation changer" in my family. I learned new ways of coping and responding. I learned tools for regulating my emotions, and for speaking my thoughts, feelings and needs. 

As I faced the pain of my husband's betrayals I was able to learn and grow in ways I never imagined possible. It was not easy. Most of the time it wasn't a pretty process. I cried buckets of tears. I took long drives so that I could scream at the top of my lungs. I turned to my Heavenly Father like never before in my life. 

I began to develop a closeness with him and the Savior that I didn't know I was missing. This process was a refiner's fire and it was brutally painful, but it propelled me into personal growth that was life changing. I still have many hard moments. I still struggle. I don't know what the future will hold, but I do know that no matter what happens I am going to be OK. 

A few months into my personal healing journey, I began to have the strangest overwhelming impression, "You need to start an Instagram account and share your story." I thought this was one of the most bizarre impressions of my life. I am not a writer or a blogger and I wondered who on earth would read something like this on Instagram, of all places. 

I began searching Instagram to see if I could find any accounts of women going through what I was going through. I didn't find any at that time. I decided to share this idea with a friend from recovery and I asked for her thoughts. One Sunday, while in church, the impression to start this Instagram account would not go away. I remember thinking to myself, "What would I even call it?" In that exact moment, a woman handed me a poem and asked me if I would read it as part of her lesson. I looked down at the slip of paper and read the title, Light Keepers. The spirit whispered to me, "This is what you will call the Instagram account." 

The poem perfectly described how I felt about the journey I was on and the "Light Keepers" my Father in Heaven had lovingly placed along my path to help light the way to healing. There have been so many Light Keepers along the way, so many beautiful people who have blessed my life--people who have been there for me in my darkest hours--people who have shown me that there is still LIGHT and HOPE, even in the darkest of circumstances. 

As I began sharing my story on Instagram I was astonished at the number of women who reached out to me with similar stories. Each woman that shared her story with me allowed me to partake in a scared trust. Strangers were sharing things with me that they had never shared with anyone before in their lives. Tears would roll down my face as I would read these emails and messages. 

I wasn't alone and I was blessed with the honor of having others share their pain and struggle with me. This was truly a life-changing experience for me. It also strengthened me and helped me to continue to seek my healing and to work my individual recovery. I began to pray for each of these women who reached out to me. They were my Light Keepers just as much as I was theirs. 

I would never have chosen this trial in my life since it has brought so much heartbreak and pain. But I also know I needed to go through it. Through this struggle I found myself. I have never been more certain of who I am and who I want to become. 

A few months ago I held a retreat for a group of women. We began to brainstorm ideas of ways we could reach out to others who were suffering in darkness, and ways we could be Light Keepers for others. For awhile I had felt the impression to make some kind of care packages for other women in trauma. We began exploring this idea and working as a team to have this idea become a reality. 

Not long after this, to my surprise, an amazing woman felt impressed to send me a large sum of money to help this project get started. I was humbled by her generosity. I knew I had an important work to do and that I was being trusted with it. In August several women and I gathered together and put together 107 boxes for women in trauma. We were able to get these boxes into the hands of other women in trauma.

I wasn't sure what was going to happen after that...

Enter Adam and Lindsay Moore

My name is Adam Moore. When I was first training to become a marriage and family therapist, I was astounded at how many people who, on the outside, seem to have life all figured out, can have such painful stories underneath the surface.

These are your friends and neighbors. They are there, doing their best to make it through each day, but they often have secret pain and trauma they're struggling with that very few people ever get to know about in most cases.

As a therapist, I sit in an incredibly sacred space with people--hearing the stories of trauma, and being present for very personal healing processes. Sometimes I am literally the only person on the earth who is invited into that space. It is humbling to say the least.

As heartbreaking as it can be to hear the painful stories, what allows me to do what I do is seeing the amazing resilience people display in the face of some of life's most challenging moments. 

About six years ago I began training to treat addictions--specifically sexual addictions. One of the very first lessons I learned was that connected to nearly every sex addict are family members, often spouses, in trauma. 

It's not just the out-of-control sexual behaviors that cause pain to family members of addicts. As with other addictions, sex addicts often get into a survival space where they lie, blame, and hide in order to keep people from finding out what is really going on. It's these behaviors that create much off the relationship trauma.

I learned that healing and recovery are necessary not only for the addict, but also for a traumatized partner. For married couples, healing the marriage requires that the betrayed spouse be given just as much care and concern as the addict typically receives.

As my wife and I have managed our counseling practice for the past few years, we've had a ongoing dialogue about what more we could do to offer support for the often-neglected people in trauma due to others' choices or because of life events that are out of their control.

I can't describe how our non-profit, Sending Light, was formed without talking about inspiration and superhuman timing. My wife and I watched (via social media) as the woman behind The Light Keepers Instagram account organized others around the concept of sending care packages to women in trauma.

When we saw that, we said, "Maybe that's where we can get involved in giving back." So we reached out to her and within weeks we were forming a non-profit organization to provide a process by which people who have experienced life's traumas can offer kindness to those who are still in the depths of their own pain. We offer a way to create Light Boxes (specialized care packages) and get them into the hands of people who need to know that they are not alone.

We started with the people we felt most connected to because of my therapy work--women whose husbands have sexual addictions. But pretty quickly we had people reaching out about many other types of traumas. These might be things like addiction, mental illness, suicide, divorce, pregnancy loss, eating disorders, and so many more. 

Sending Light's mission is to provide the structure and resources for ordinary people to do something extraordinary and to combine their efforts with people who have experienced traumas like their own--to reach out to people who may feel alone and isolated in their trauma.

Each Light Box contains thoughtful items that provide emotional support. education. opportunities for self-care, and a connection to others who have traveled the same road. When a person sends a Light Box, he or she becomes a Light Keeper and joins an ever-growing force of people committed to relieving human suffering.

The really neat thing about the way we deliver the Light Boxes is that in most cases, we are going to get the boxes into the hands of a gatekeeper--a community or church leader who has direct access to people who are suffering right now. Those leaders may not fully understand the gravity of the traumas people are experiencing. So the boxes are delivered with additional educational materials to teach those individuals about those traumas, so that they can provide better, more informed support, education.

Our organization is brand-new, but are already seeing incredible support from people all over the United States, asking how they can get involved. We are excited to watch as The Light Keepers spread into every community and stand with people in the most difficult moments of their lives.

sendinglight.org

A video about Sending Light: 

Related Stories: 

Kisses for Kycie

8 steps to overcoming betrayal trauma

Mission Statement

I have been working on some things for my conference coming up and tonight I felt impressed to write a mission statement. I am so humbled to be part of something that is so much bigger than me. What a blessing it has been to build a community of fighters who know the pain I have felt in my life and who are still so brave and beautiful. Every story that has touched my life has changed me for the better and I am so thankful for friends I have never met who have carried me so many days out of my own dark fog. I love each of you. Your stories are as beautiful as you are.

Mission Statement

Another day to stand

For the last few years I have shared my heart with the world as a blogger. It is not a title I ever would have chosen for myself, but every day I have learned it is where I was always meant to be.

Along this same journey I have had the opportunity to become a motivational speaker—also not something I would have ever aspired to . . . but still I find myself here.

I have felt very humbled to be in these positions and have spent many days speaking for all different crowds of people, each time learning something new myself.

I have run my own conferences and brought together teams of motivational speakers from all walks of life. In them I have met some of my best friends, all with a different story.

It is crazy how some things in life choose us; many times contrary to every plan we ever set out to live.

So here it is.

The past few months I have been having dreams and many thoughts teaching me about a spiritual trauma healing therapy that I have felt inspired to create. I would like to start working with clients one on one, over the phone or FaceTime, to begin putting it into practice, and learning even more myself.

If you or someone you know would like to sign up please email me at themomentswestand@gmail.com. Space will be limited, but I feel strongly that there are some of you who read this blog that need to learn from this method and I am excited to watch it grow.

Also starting this week, I am going to be booking speaking engagements for the next year so I can get my calendar planned out. If you are interested in booking me for a future event, please contact me ASAP so we can get it set up.

Thank you to the businesses, churches, and organizations that have believed in me these past few years. As daunting as it has been—and how inadequate I have felt—it has shown me where I belong. There have not been many moments in my life when I have felt so close to my Savior then when I have a microphone in my hand on stage speaking of the truths that He has given me—truths about death, truths about forgiveness, truths about worth, truths about healing and choosing to stand, and truths about life.

I have a message I want to share—not because it is easy, but because I believe in this mission. Thank you for supporting me. If you would have asked me a few years ago why . . . why I was willing to open my heart to complete strangers, I would have told you it was because I had the hope to change just one—save one marriage, stop one gun, protect one heart. But the truth is: this mission has saved one. It has saved me.

Thanks for letting me grow, and heal, and follow the prompting to embrace my story.

My name is Ashlee. I am a survivor of infidelity and murder. And I am still standing. I am the survivor of victimhood—and I am still fighting every day to forgive, to overcome, and to bring light to a dark world.

I choose to stand. 

I have created a website for my speaking and on one one sessions. Since this will still remain my blog for stories and inspiration, I thought it would be easier to use the new website for information on speaking and trauma healing one-on-ones. 

For more information the website is: www.ashleebirk.com

But I deserve butterflies

Well this week I planned on using all the wonderful powerhouse mom stories I have received to celebrate mothers day. But when this came to me today I had to share it. I am humbled by all the amazing stories that have been shared and feel the strength from each of you who have been willing to be a light in this dark world. Keep shining. And Happy Mother's Day to all the amazing woman who make a difference in the lives of children all over the world. 

Ashlee

But I deserve butterflies 

by: an anonymous husband

It started out how these things always do. At first it really was just a coincidence that we just kept running into each other. And like the storybooks say . . . she gave me an excitement each time my eye caught hers. Butterflies. 

Soon I started to get dressed for her. My workouts at the gym began to be motivated by the next time I would see her. I looked for her. I purposefully went out of my way to make sure we would just happen to run into each other—but I always acted surprised. 

I knew it was wrong—but I didn’t want it to stop. It really was just innocent .  . . at first.

Temptation was on my doorstep . . . but all I could see was the excitement I felt. All I could feel was the butterflies. Selfishness centered me around myself. I knew what I wanted and nothing was going to stop me until I got it. 

I have four kids—sweet wonderful kids. I am not always the best dad, but I try. But it even began to be hard spending time with them. My wife and I were struggling. Who isn’t right? I had always loved her, but started to even question that. We always had some huge struggle we were fighting about, and I began to dread going home. 

So it felt natural to look around. Each day it went a little further, and this girl made it easy. Our conversations became longer, and the happenstance running into each other began to be planned. We had so much in common, especially in our failing marriages. 

The first time she text me my heart skipped a beat. Butterflies. 

I felt new when I saw her, like I was young again. She validated everything my wife had grown to ignore. She encouraged me. It felt like she saw the real me—someone I had long forgotten. 

Soon we decided we would meet up somewhere more private. It was getting hard really getting to know each other with so many other people around. That morning she text me the Hotel name and the room number. I couldn’t focus on anything else. 

My wife text me at lunch, angry that I had forgotten to give our son his lunch money when I dropped them off at the school. Her text was the last validation I needed to get in my car and head to the hotel. I was done being alone in my marriage. I was done being yelled at and treated badly. I deserved to be loved—and that night I would be. 

I felt no remorse as I text her back my excuse of why I would be home late. She would have no clue. I usually got home way later than planned. But tonight I was finally going to do something for me. Not for my office, or my kids, or my baseball buddies, not for my ungrateful wife. Finally I didn’t have to ask her permission. I was just going to do what I wanted to do and what felt good for me. 

My car felt cold as I buckled up my seatbelt. I looked out all the windows to make sure no one was watching. I looked in the back seat. My son’s lunch money sat alone on the cushion. See I was a good dad. I did give him the money, he just forgot . . . she just wanted something to be angry with me about, because that is what she does. She doesn’t care about me or need me. She doesn’t even care about my happiness. I am worthless to her. I deserve to have butterflies and someone who wants me around. 

That surge of anger fueled my drive. I got to the hotel and parked around the back. I looked around again as I retrieved my workout bag out of the trunk. I was alone in the parking lot; no one to suspect anything. 

As I walked in the hotel I felt proud that I was finally free. I didn’t have to feel guilty either, because I deserved this. 

The elevator seemed to take forever as I stared up at the numbers on the wall. Soon it opened and I stepped inside. The minute the door shut I finally felt safe that no one I knew would see me and stop me from my freedom. 

Then it happened. 

A new song came on. One I knew too well. “Butterfly kisses”. I had sung it many times to my daughter when she couldn’t sleep in the night. She had even asked me, just a year ago, if I would dance with her—to it—at her wedding some day. To which I had promised I would. 

Each verse that played was a memory. Every floor I passed—every second—as the elevator took me up higher . . . my heart sunk lower. 

Then the song started singing about the little girl’s wedding day. I closed my eyes as tears fell down my cheeks. I pictured my own little girl walking arm-in-arm with me towards her dream man. 

Who would I want that man to be? Like me? Lost and alone? Broken and searching for someone else to love him? Just ten years later standing in an elevator about to destroy his family?

I fell to the ground as I pictured someone hurting my little girl. And that is when I saw her—my bride. On our wedding day. I could see her perfect curls falling in her eyes. I could see—like it was yesterday—that look she had when she couldn’t take them off me. I could see our smiles and feel our hands held so tight as we promised to be true forever. 

The elevator door opened. 

I pried myself off the ground and stood up. A sign pointed the way for our room. The arrow seemed to jump out, begging me to follow. Time stopped. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. For that moment I could see so clearly. Every choice I was making, every moment I had spent that got me here . . . and every moment that would inevitably follow. 

This was it. That moment. Would I follow the arrow to those butterflies I thought I deserved? Would I choose me? Or would I be the man I would want my daughter to walk down the isle to? Because if I was him . . . then my wife was her. 

I was frozen. 

Soon the elevator door began to close. I reached out my hand to stop it and like someone was in there with me I could hear a shout, “Let it close”. 

The door closed. All the strength I had, seemed to be sucked out of me as I silently battled. 

But I won. 

I didn’t go into that hotel room that night. Instead I pushed a button that took me back down to my car. I buckled my seatbelt and I cried the whole way home. 

To say it was an easy road—walking into a house full of beauty I didn’t feel worthy of—would be a lie. It took a long time to find myself again. The battle didn’t end in that elevator that night, but it was the moment when I took my stand. 

Men—if we want them to find a man worthy of them . . . we have to show them what they deserve. We have to love their mothers. Even when it is hard. We have to take care of them, and cherish them. We have to understand their struggles, not for ourselves . . . but for them. 

To my future son in law, 

Treat her like the queen she deserves to be. Fight. It won’t always come as natural as the day you fell in love, but with a lot patience and faith and a little bit of sacrifice, you can be the man of her dreams. You just have to choose it over and over again. 

Woman. Wives. Mothers. We might not always see you, we might get kind of dumb sometimes or blinded. But please don’t give up on us. 

When I took a stand in that elevator that night I made a promise that I would overcome. And I will stand—broken, and imperfect, and sometimes very stupid—but I will not fall.

Sunday is Mother’s Day, almost one year exactly from the moment I chose the mother of my children on a night when I almost forgot her. And I pray every day that I can be the man she always wanted—for the rest of her life. I will fight to give her the butterflies she deserves.

Not only for her . . . but for my daughter. 

For the first time in my life I can see that love is watching someone else receive all I have. The real butterflies worth fighting for—the ones we all deserve—are the ones we give. 

Related articles: Stand Tall you aren't alone

8 Steps to Overcoming Betrayal Trauma

I was speaking for a betrayal trauma seminar retreat going on in California today over FaceTime on my computer. So I decided part way through to record to share with you all. Sorry you missed the first part. I showed my dirty house after the twins late night birthday party last night . . . yikes!! 

Thank you lovely woman for having me today. I know it is hard as woman of faith to overcome this trauma of betrayal while you feel like you are the only broken family. You are not alone! We are all fighting many battles! Never stop.

These are eight steps I have found to overcome betrayal trauma and find freedom from the pain. 

I was a widow . . . but I wasn't alone

I thought I had been through a lot in my short life. A teenage pregnancy, a young marriage, infidelity..., but nothing, nothing could have prepared me for this. How did we end up here? That thought kept racing through my head as I stood over his freshly installed headstone. His car accident seemed like years ago, yet sometimes it seemed just as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Truth was, it really had only been months. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout my questions of “Why?” high to the heavens and make him hear me. “Why me? Why did this happen?” I fell to my knees with my head in my hands. I was sobbing and pleading for anyone to hear me. I felt broken and shattered to my very core. How could I continue on with life? Without him, what was life to me anymore?  I was 21. He was 21.  We had a 3 year old.  We had a new baby. We just bought a starter crappy house together. “Why?” My thoughts raced and my memory started to take me where I dreaded to go. A memory of months ago, standing by his hospital bed, holding his grey hand and watching the blinking lights of the life sustaining machines producing little beeps and numbers on a monitor. Numbers I didn’t understand. In that moment I pled with my husband, I yelled at him inside my head. “How dare you just lay there. Get up. Don’t you leave me. Colton, please get up.” I see the artificial rise and fall of the ventilator pumping oxygen into his lungs. Tears were falling down my cheeks and landing softly on the clean white hospital sheets. I heard the heavy door open and I turned to see familiar scuffed sneakers coming through the doorway. They belong to the intensive care unit doctor who was desperately trying to help us. His presence should have been a comforting sight and one that yielded hope, but I knew better. I could see it in even the nurse’s eyes, this situation we were in, was not good.  I looked up to meet the doctor’s eyes, dreading what they will reveal. They’re sad, almost hopeless. They mirrored my own. He held my future in his next breath. His shaky voice tells me Colton’s kidneys were continuing to fail and the results of the brain flow tests were in. I drew in a breath. I watched his lips form the word “Negative.” And I thought I heard him say “He’s gone..” A rush of emotion hit me as if someone was kicking me in the stomach and my knees buckled. I buried my head in my hands and from the very depths of my soul I wailed. With my head spinning, I crumbled to the hospital floor. It was so cold. Suddenly, the crisp air bites at my hands and nose and now standing over his stone, I’m actually cold. Here is my new reality. “How, oh how did we end up here?” My heart hurt, it felt as if a vice was squeezing it tighter and tighter with each new beat and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could take the sting.  I was now a broken person and bore the title I never wanted. I was now a widow. I felt like a vessel with a gaping hole, vulnerable and abandoned. How would I rise? This weight was too much to bear. I was sinking. I fell on my knees and pleaded a prayer of comfort, just enough to help me stand. Just then, I felt as if some force was helping me get up, and with a power greater than my own current physical state, I was able to stand. I felt a warmth wash over me. It was a feeling of love and peace and my soul recognized it. I heard the word “Savior” in my mind and I knew it was Him. He heard me. Through tears I smiled for the first time since I couldn’t even remember. In that moment of unbearable grief, I felt such a strong impression that even though Colton was removed from me and taken from this earthly life, I could still feel him near me. In the soft whisper of the wind through the tree's, or the beautiful sunset casting a warm orange glow on my skin. In the sweet laughter of my children, that was him. He was near me. I just knew it. These beautiful, gentle reminders of Colton’s existence were proof to me of God’s existence, and his infinite grace and love. I could rise from the depths, a broken vessel, yes, but a strong one. One that would sail these rough waters because I knew that no matter how much the waves thrashed against me, or not matter how hard the wind howled, my Savior was near me, always, and the end destination was worth one hundred journeys with broken vessels. I kept that heavenly message close to my heart and the days, months, and years passed. And here I am, 5 years out. It still hurts; I’d be lying if I said it didn’t. I don’t think the sting of death ever fully goes away, but through the thorns of this path, I was granted a new life and perspective, and if I turn to look back on my journey, I now see a beautiful rose garden. Through faith I have been able to heal and my healing has yielded hope. I was able to rise, and now I proudly stand. 

By: Stacie Haycock

  

To find out more about Stacie visit her instagram:
@staciehay

When trauma tries to break you--Oklahoma

Read full article in Oklahoma News here: http://newsok.com/when-trauma-tries-to-break-you/article/5472496?articleBar=1

When Trauma tries to break you

My letter to trauma published today on Family Share.

When Trauma Tries to Break you

Dear TRAUMA

Dear TRAUMA,

You took something from me I can never get back. You made me believe that my life was not my own. You left me paralyzed in fear. I struggled to get back up—wondering if I was enough; wishing I could know why you chose me.

It seems you had a plan; I was your victim. You chose a side, and it wasn’t mine. You didn’t wait around to help me get back on my feet; you didn’t ask if I was ok. You just made your mess, and then left me to figure out the rest, to pick up the pieces alone. 

You knew that moment would try to define me. You knew that fear would swarm the memories of the past—but even worse, you knew that it would try to hold me back in the future, unable to breath.

I was broken; my tears were immeasurable. At times I felt alone, and despair was my constant companion. I searched for something to hold onto for hope, but you had taken all of that from me. You laughed at me, as you walked away. That was the hardest sting, when I watched you not care.

You probably thought I would stay down forever—that birds with a broken wing would never fly again. You probably hoped I would give up. You probably didn’t even look back to make sure I was still down.

Turns out, even broken wings can mend. It turns out, I was a lot stronger than you thought. I bet you didn’t know I was a fighter when you chose me as your victim. I bet you didn’t realize that strength can grow from a tiny sprout of faith in God. I bet you didn’t expect to ever hear from me again—that my life would now be yours. I bet you always thought I would forever be your puppet.

Well. Today I stand—to not only tell you but—to show you that you were wrong about me. You thought you chose a victim, but it turns out . . . I am a survivor. Your puppet has cut the strings. I will no longer live in the shadow of your fear. I will no longer hate in the chains of your anger. I will be free. I will build from this ground that you threw me upon, and I will become stronger.

So maybe you saw my weaknesses as you tried to make me fall; but guess what, I saw yours too. Your weakness was thinking that you would ever bring me down without a fight. I am a warrior of my own life and of your evil plan. I am a champion who sees through the fog and clings to the light. I found hope when you told me there was none, and I will live every day unbroken. You did not break me when you dropped me on my face—you taught me how to stand.

Sincerely, 

Me

(A Reason to Stand in Ogden last October. These woman are all fighters, overcoming trauma from the past, learning to not fear the future, and living in the moments that matter the most . . . today.)

This week I have worked with a few woman who have been stuck in the chaos of their own traumas. So I thought of this letter I wrote a while back. 

That dark fog that hangs over us after a traumatic event can have lasting effects. These moments can be any failure, big or small. Getting lost at the grocery story when you were five years old, to watching your loved one pass away. Truama is real, it is haunting, and it heavy. There are moments in each of our lives that have filled us with lies about our abilities, our worthiness, our worth, and our purpose. 

We don't have to let this trauma define us. We do not have to let it run us into the ground over and over again. Go back to those moments in your mind and read your own letter to the trauma that formed. Set it free, and you will find freedom from the fears it has created inside of you. We do not have to be prisoners in our own lives. We can live life unfrozen. Life can be meaningful and happy, even after pain. 

You are the master of your destiny. Live it like it was on purpose.


For more on healing trauma please go to trauma healing and find out more.