Finding Strength: The Journey of Healing After Trauma

Speak your truth carved into wood

Finding Strength: The Journey of Healing Trauma

Yes, I was raped,

a phrase heavy with gravity,

a chapter embossed in shadows,

yet it does not chart the entirety of my soul. 

In the depths of night,

memories like icy fingers unfurl,

but I am learning to warm them

with the sunlight of new days,

where healing finds a rhythm. 

Yes, I live with post-traumatic stress,

a silent storm echoes within me;

the world, a fragile glass,

ready to shatter with the echo of laughter,

the resonance of a siren,

the touch of a breeze,

like whispers from a forgotten past. 

Yet, amid these tremors, I stand tall,

an oak rooted deep,

branches reaching for the countless tomorrows. 

I am a mosaic of moments, painted in vibrant hues—

the laughter shared with friends,

the scent of rain on thirsty earth,

and the soft cadence of a song,

that sweeps me away,

far from the grip of yesterday. 

Each tear has carved a river

flowing through the landscape of my heart,

but I have learned to fish,

pulling gold from its depths,

catching hope that glimmers,

like sunlight on rippling water. 

I am not merely a vessel of pain;

I am the shores of survival,

the bridges of connection,

spanning the rivers of the past. 

There are days when shadows loom,

casting doubt upon my path,

like storms that darken skies,

but I have weathered many tempests. 

I have danced through my fears,

gaily swirling in the lightning,

singing my truth amid the thunder,

an anthem that rises from the marrow of my being. 

Yes, I carry the burden,

the weight of the memories etched in my psyche,

they are not chains but threads,

woven into the fabric of who I am—

stitches of courage,

patterns of strength,

which shimmer beneath the scars,

each mark a testament to battles fought. 

I am the autumn leaves that flutter,

released from branches,

knowing that the chill of winter

will also pass,

and spring will bring a renewal,

a resurgence of life,

blossoms bursting with color,

for every season holds its worth. 

I am the warmth of the sun,

a golden orb radiating resilience,

the laughter of children playing,

a sweet melody that reminds me—

joy exists,

sometimes buried beneath layers,

but it’s there, waiting,

for courage to unearth it,

to hold it gently like a fragile seed. 

The world has painted me

in hues of melancholy and defiance,

but I wield my brush,

mixing colors anew,

creating a landscape where dreams can take flight,

where every scar becomes a story,

a reminder that I have survived,

not just endured but thrived. 

In moments of reflection,

I dig deep into the soil of self—a garden,

where seeds of possibility sprout,

and gratitude dances with hope,

each bloom a symbol,

a whisper of joy in the sunlit air,

an affirmation that I am more

than the shadows that haunt me. 

Yes, I face each dawn,

sometimes trembling, sometimes bold,

wrapped in the embrace of uncertainty,

knowing it cradles the potential for change. 

I breathe deeply, feeling the air fill my lungs,

pushing back against fears,

reminding myself of my name,

my story, my light. 

I am the storyteller,

unraveling the threads of my narrative,

weaving a tapestry that encompasses

my heart's deepest desires,

my laughter, my tears,

and yes, those moments of despair. 

But they do not define the entirety of my journey,

only the contours, the rugged terrain,

that lead me to peaks forged in resolve. 

I learn to forgive,

not for the violation nor the pain,

but for my spirit,

to set it free from binding thorns,

to cultivate a sanctuary within—

where peace unravels like a soft breeze

and acceptance wraps around me

like a warm, worn quilt,

comforting and familiar. 

I walk the path with my head high,

the effect of a thousand tiny shifts,

each step a declaration,

I am still here,

each moment, a dance with resilience,

the rhythm of my heartbeat echoes strength,

and in that heartbeat lies the essence

of what I am trying to say. 

I am love,

the fierce bond shared with those who shine brightly,

family who gather like stars,

mending wounds unseen,

friends who stand like pillars

through the tempests of my soul. 

Their laughter becomes my armor,

their compassion my refuge. 

As seasons change,

I embrace the gifts of each,

and learn to honor those chapters,

not with despair,

but with a grace that acknowledges,

that yes, even in darkness,

there are pinpricks of light,

tiny galaxies spinning with potential,

yearning for recognition. 

Yes, I was raped. 

Yes, I live with post-traumatic stress. 

But within me lies a universe,

a constellation of experiences—

not all bright,

some flicker in muted shades,

but they are mine,

each one a star that connects,

a reminder that I am vast,

that I am more than the sum of battles lost. 

I revel in the power of my voice,

each word another ripple on a shimmering sea,

daring to surrender the shame to the wind,

for I am more than the narratives,

more than the heavy cloak I once wore. 

I am a whisper of hope,

a cacophony of dreams,

I am the embrace of tomorrow,

alive with purpose,

charting the course of my own heartbeat. 

And as I unfold each day,

I write my own sonnet of survival,

with exuberance in each line,

for the trials may shape me,

but they do not define me,

and within my being blooms the truth:

I am resilient,

I am worthy,

Yes, I was raped,

But that is not all I am.