For most of my life, I didn’t believe what I lived through was normal — I believed it was my fault. I thought there was something broken in me, something that made me hard to love.
"when you grow up believing you are the problem you just learn to survive it", what a striking sentence. This is the first thing I read this morning and is so stuck with me now that I have no choice but to ask myself if I'm doing enough to rewrite the narrative of my life. Beautiful work!!
This is so relatable!! You really have put how I’ve seen myself into words, thank you for making the invisible child seen when she’s shed that mask after so long
There's so much power packed into this short post. And so much courage - to finally say "enough!" and really mean it, and then spend the time sitting with the memories and the pain, and the ritual of making a conscious, embodied choice with each one of those memories. Wow. ❤️ I hope there's a sense of more lightness after that deep process.
This is so helpful to my heart and I found my healing when I began to hear Jesus instead of the demons that spoke through my own voice! Tremendous words you have poured out and I definitely want to read your upcoming poetry collection. God bless you
Your words touched me so deeply — thank you for sharing a piece of your story here. I know that shift you speak of, when the inner dialogue softens and light breaks through the old voices. I’m so glad this spoke to your heart, and I’m honored that you want to read my upcoming collection. Sending love and gratitude your way — and may your path stay lit with grace. 🌿💛
Jennifer, thank you so much for these kind, gentle words. It wasn’t easy to write, but the more I write, the easier it becomes to carry. Almost like each word loosens the weight a little. I’m really grateful it resonated with you. We’re never as alone in these feelings as we think. 🤎
Debs, this was so deeply moving. You’ve captured the raw, messy, and incredibly brave process of healing with such honesty and care. The image of crossing out old beliefs—physically and emotionally—stayed with me. It felt like a quiet revolution.
This piece is extraordinary. It carries the weight of deep emotional truth while also offering something hopeful and empowering. The way you described sitting on the floor amidst the chaos of moving, questioning the narrative you had been given, felt so honest and relatable. That moment of picking up the journal to cross out those inherited beliefs? Such a striking metaphor for reclaiming agency.
That line—“I didn’t have to live in the shadow of my trauma”—took my breath away. So many will see themselves in these words and feel a little less alone. Your writing gives voice to the parts of us that are still learning how to breathe again.
Thank you for sharing your truth, your voice, and your gift. This will stay with me for a long time. ❤️💛✨️🫶🏻
Thank you Saira, truly. I sat with this piece for a long time before I hit publish, wondering if it would make sense to anyone but me. That moment, sitting on the floor with a journal and finally crossing out the beliefs I’d carried like second skin, was the first time I felt like I had a say in my own story. The first time I realized I didn’t have to keep living in the shadow of someone else’s version of me.
It still takes courage, every single day, to rewrite those old scripts. But knowing these words made space for you too? That’s the kind of connection that keeps me writing. Thank you for seeing it, and for seeing me. ❤️
My pleasure, Debs. I’m so glad you published it—I actually woke up to it this morning and read it over breakfast. It stayed with me all day. That moment you described, sitting on the floor and rewriting the script, felt like a mirror to something many of us have lived but never quite put into words. You gave it language. You gave it power.
Your courage is felt in every line, and the space you’ve created through this piece is real and deeply needed. You didn’t just reclaim your story—you’re helping others feel brave enough to begin rewriting theirs too. I’m so honoured to be part of that. Grateful for your voice, your strength, and the light you continue to share.
Always here, walking alongside you. Always cheering you on. I’ll always see it—and I’ll always see you. ❤️✨️
I’m humbled and grateful for your kindness. It’s an honor to share this space with you and to know that my story can offer even a glimmer of hope or courage to someone else. ❤️
I love being part of your amazing space! We both share the same aim of helping others heal through poetry, and that makes this connection even more special. It’s an honour to share this space with you, Debs. Your story doesn’t just offer a glimmer—it brings real light and healing to those who need it most. I’m so grateful for your presence, your honesty, and the courage it takes to keep showing up. Always cheering you on. ❤️
This spoke to me sooo much. I related to almost every part of it deeply. I’m so sorry for what you went through, and just know you are not alone. I hope to write more about this part of my life in the future
That means more to me than you know — thank you for holding space for both your story and mine. I hope you do write about your story when you’re ready — there’s so much power and healing waiting in those words. 🤎
This has been my story as well. And I am still learning to breathe. I am still hunted by it sometimes and I do my best to be safe. To feel safe. My inner child craves it. And I know it will take time. Thank you
This is beautiful, Debra. That feeling of being “too much,” of shrinking yourself to survive, resonated deeply. I’ve spent years unlearning the quiet stories I absorbed about what love required of me—and what it meant to be worthy of it.
I wrote something a while back called The Quiet Work of Love. It came out of that same space: rewriting the beliefs we inherit, not all at once, but in layers—through reflection, heartbreak, and, eventually, presence.
Thank you for this reminder that rewriting isn’t a performance—it’s a practice. A daily, vulnerable, deeply human one.
I love how you said rewriting isn’t a performance — it’s a practice — that truth could stand alone as a mantra. It’s such tender, hard-won work, but you’re right — it happens in layers, in pauses, in the smallest acts of presence. I’m so glad our words found each other in this space. Thank you for sharing this piece of your journey with me. 💛
‘It taught me love was something I had to learn’ yes. This really resonates with me. I’m currently still writing a memoir called what love isn’t and really enjoyed reading this piece so thank you so much for sharing. Thank you also for the book recommendation, I have just downloaded it 🫶🏼
Wow, it was like reading my own experience. I’ve felt that way my entire life and it was only through a traumatic experience that I realized the story I’ve been fed about who I am is simply untrue. Realizing I was autistic was crucial in my ability to first understand myself, analyze it and enact change in my surroundings. I lost pretty much everyone along the way.
"when you grow up believing you are the problem you just learn to survive it", what a striking sentence. This is the first thing I read this morning and is so stuck with me now that I have no choice but to ask myself if I'm doing enough to rewrite the narrative of my life. Beautiful work!!
Thank you Katarina, here’s to rewriting, one brave, beautiful line at a time. 💛
This is so relatable!! You really have put how I’ve seen myself into words, thank you for making the invisible child seen when she’s shed that mask after so long
Thank you for meeting these words with your own heart. She deserves to be seen. You deserve to be seen. I’m so glad you’re here. 🖤
There's so much power packed into this short post. And so much courage - to finally say "enough!" and really mean it, and then spend the time sitting with the memories and the pain, and the ritual of making a conscious, embodied choice with each one of those memories. Wow. ❤️ I hope there's a sense of more lightness after that deep process.
What a beautifully tender reflection Morgan, thank you for seeing the heart of it so clearly. ❤️
Beautiful. Thanks for sharing. Loving kindness headed your way.
Thank you Craig, I’m receiving that kindness with an open heart today. Sending some right back to you. 💛
This is so helpful to my heart and I found my healing when I began to hear Jesus instead of the demons that spoke through my own voice! Tremendous words you have poured out and I definitely want to read your upcoming poetry collection. God bless you
Your words touched me so deeply — thank you for sharing a piece of your story here. I know that shift you speak of, when the inner dialogue softens and light breaks through the old voices. I’m so glad this spoke to your heart, and I’m honored that you want to read my upcoming collection. Sending love and gratitude your way — and may your path stay lit with grace. 🌿💛
Thank you so much for sharing this Debra, it can’t have been easy. I can relate to so much of what you have written 🤎
Jennifer, thank you so much for these kind, gentle words. It wasn’t easy to write, but the more I write, the easier it becomes to carry. Almost like each word loosens the weight a little. I’m really grateful it resonated with you. We’re never as alone in these feelings as we think. 🤎
Beautiful...so insightful
Thank you 🤎
Debs, this was so deeply moving. You’ve captured the raw, messy, and incredibly brave process of healing with such honesty and care. The image of crossing out old beliefs—physically and emotionally—stayed with me. It felt like a quiet revolution.
This piece is extraordinary. It carries the weight of deep emotional truth while also offering something hopeful and empowering. The way you described sitting on the floor amidst the chaos of moving, questioning the narrative you had been given, felt so honest and relatable. That moment of picking up the journal to cross out those inherited beliefs? Such a striking metaphor for reclaiming agency.
That line—“I didn’t have to live in the shadow of my trauma”—took my breath away. So many will see themselves in these words and feel a little less alone. Your writing gives voice to the parts of us that are still learning how to breathe again.
Thank you for sharing your truth, your voice, and your gift. This will stay with me for a long time. ❤️💛✨️🫶🏻
Thank you Saira, truly. I sat with this piece for a long time before I hit publish, wondering if it would make sense to anyone but me. That moment, sitting on the floor with a journal and finally crossing out the beliefs I’d carried like second skin, was the first time I felt like I had a say in my own story. The first time I realized I didn’t have to keep living in the shadow of someone else’s version of me.
It still takes courage, every single day, to rewrite those old scripts. But knowing these words made space for you too? That’s the kind of connection that keeps me writing. Thank you for seeing it, and for seeing me. ❤️
My pleasure, Debs. I’m so glad you published it—I actually woke up to it this morning and read it over breakfast. It stayed with me all day. That moment you described, sitting on the floor and rewriting the script, felt like a mirror to something many of us have lived but never quite put into words. You gave it language. You gave it power.
Your courage is felt in every line, and the space you’ve created through this piece is real and deeply needed. You didn’t just reclaim your story—you’re helping others feel brave enough to begin rewriting theirs too. I’m so honoured to be part of that. Grateful for your voice, your strength, and the light you continue to share.
Always here, walking alongside you. Always cheering you on. I’ll always see it—and I’ll always see you. ❤️✨️
I’m humbled and grateful for your kindness. It’s an honor to share this space with you and to know that my story can offer even a glimmer of hope or courage to someone else. ❤️
I love being part of your amazing space! We both share the same aim of helping others heal through poetry, and that makes this connection even more special. It’s an honour to share this space with you, Debs. Your story doesn’t just offer a glimmer—it brings real light and healing to those who need it most. I’m so grateful for your presence, your honesty, and the courage it takes to keep showing up. Always cheering you on. ❤️
This spoke to me sooo much. I related to almost every part of it deeply. I’m so sorry for what you went through, and just know you are not alone. I hope to write more about this part of my life in the future
That means more to me than you know — thank you for holding space for both your story and mine. I hope you do write about your story when you’re ready — there’s so much power and healing waiting in those words. 🤎
I am working on a book based around a story linked to my childhood trauma.
Writing from that place of truth is incredibly healing. Wishing you strength on this journey. ✨
This has been my story as well. And I am still learning to breathe. I am still hunted by it sometimes and I do my best to be safe. To feel safe. My inner child craves it. And I know it will take time. Thank you
I’m totally with you on this one, Debra — “too much”. Felt that one in my soul. Thank you for sharing this.
This is beautiful, Debra. That feeling of being “too much,” of shrinking yourself to survive, resonated deeply. I’ve spent years unlearning the quiet stories I absorbed about what love required of me—and what it meant to be worthy of it.
I wrote something a while back called The Quiet Work of Love. It came out of that same space: rewriting the beliefs we inherit, not all at once, but in layers—through reflection, heartbreak, and, eventually, presence.
Thank you for this reminder that rewriting isn’t a performance—it’s a practice. A daily, vulnerable, deeply human one.
https://www.brittleviews.com/p/the-quiet-work-of-love
I love how you said rewriting isn’t a performance — it’s a practice — that truth could stand alone as a mantra. It’s such tender, hard-won work, but you’re right — it happens in layers, in pauses, in the smallest acts of presence. I’m so glad our words found each other in this space. Thank you for sharing this piece of your journey with me. 💛
‘It taught me love was something I had to learn’ yes. This really resonates with me. I’m currently still writing a memoir called what love isn’t and really enjoyed reading this piece so thank you so much for sharing. Thank you also for the book recommendation, I have just downloaded it 🫶🏼
Wow, it was like reading my own experience. I’ve felt that way my entire life and it was only through a traumatic experience that I realized the story I’ve been fed about who I am is simply untrue. Realizing I was autistic was crucial in my ability to first understand myself, analyze it and enact change in my surroundings. I lost pretty much everyone along the way.