I heard this song, and the tears started flowing. I can carry us home. A song about grief and how it changes you, how it affects you, and the impact on everything after that moment. This song could not be more perfect for that 13-year-old part of me that has tried to do everything on her own for her entire life. She has lived lifetimes and is closer to me than she ever has been. For the first time in forever, I think she may even be in the same room with me. I have pictured her out on a couch, sitting alone, thinking about all the things that she never got; all of the things that have been done to her. She has sat alone, trying to figure out everything she has done wrong that has gotten her to this point. She has this forever-long pointer finger pointing at herself for every fault, every decision, every pain that she has encountered. Finally, I think we are in the same room. Tell me your story, and I will tell you mine. Everything is already alright. We are so alright, and I haven't felt that in the longest time. There is this sense of peace that I have longed for for so long. It's such a soft place to be after fighting for so long. Today I found out that I passed my exam, I had supervision, and I am so proud of my work with clients. I am here because Spunky helped me survive. I am here because I wanted better and knew that someday we would get there. She is that quiet force that always kept me going, that always believed that there was more. She would much rather be in the shadows, making magic. With each heart that she touches, it's another healing stitch in ours. I wish that I had better words to explain, but this is what I have. We live in this place of grief where there is so much loss. We lost who we were as people. We lost things we never knew were ours to be had. Despair and sadness followed us everywhere, and yet we have always had each other. I have always been so afraid of her bravery, her strength, and seeing things differently today is something there are no words for. I can carry her home. Her story won't break me, and I will be ok. She will be ok, and together we are unstoppable.
There are so many thoughts, feelings, and doubts swirling in my brain, and there is a peace, a determination, a drive that just doesn't stop.
Friday June 5, 2026 I had my interview for the Ph.D program. I was more than excited, not sleeping the previous 2 nights. How was I going to convey just how important this was to me, and that this was something that I knew I was meant to do? They told us they would let everyone know within 7 days and that we would receive an email. 3:11 I saw the email: Congratulations, you have been accepted into the program!
My fear when I started my master's was that I had not yet completed my own work! I was always so afraid that somehow counseling others would heal my own heart. I didn't want to do this to heal myself; once I started seeing clients, that was so not the case. I was able to separate my own healing from counseling others. I was proud of myself and knew I was doing the right thing. My master's program has been everything amazing, I have met professors that I will forever keep in contact with and reach out for guidance. But the truth is that being in the master's program did help my own healing. I think the day I decided to continue with my master's was the day I realized I needed to do something. I didn't want to drown in the things that have happened to me. I wanted to make them mean something. As much as I wish that things were different, as much as I wish that I could change things and make them different, I can not. But what i can do is move forward, make a difference and give meaning to the things that I have been through. Wounded healer, could not be more fitting. I am wounded; there are parts of my heart that will forever be tender, but there is also a piece of me that has moved on and is ready to fight for others. I am not saying that I am done, I have work to do on sweet spunky, that brave, amazing part of me that helped me get to this point. But there is a healed part of me that is strong and brave and so determined to do things differently. Getting my Ph.D. and being admitted into the program is a dream come true and means more than I could ever explain in words. So many things have gotten me to this point.
Undefeated by Freya Ridings
I stand here broken
but never beaten
if my heart is open
I'm undefeated
I have been knocked down
but I am still breathing
if my heart keeps going
Even with a tidal wave of fear in my chest
I'm undefeated
I am undefeated
I stand undefeated
I am undefeated
And I stand like I'm still a champion
anything could happen
And I feel that magic now
Oh all of the things that I feel right now, Magic would be one of the first words. I feel like I am on the right path, like I can see the healing I have done that has led me here, and I am more than excited to start this next chapter, continuing to heal myself and others. I do worry about the days I might feel like I am drowning, but I have to remember this moment and how far I have come. It's one of those moments when so many moments of struggle and despair come together, and there is a realization that the things that tried to break you didn't, and you're still here, standing, doing all the things that you never imagined. I am still not done. I will continue fighting for Spunky, but I am so on my way, and she is closer than she has ever been. She will make it, she will join me, and we will do this together. She deserved so much better, and she is going to be with me through this program, so we can do better for others
Yes, yes, this. She suffered so beautifully that no one knew she was suffering. She was dying inside, and no one knew, or not a single soul noticed. She would smile, take care of everything she had to do, then cry herself to sleep, hoping things would be different for her tomorrow. There was a place somewhere inside of her that knew she deserved better, and she refused to let go. So many times that 13-year-old girl would have given anything just to stop breathing, just make the pain and suffering that she felt disappear. But still she held on. How did she survive such brutality and keep her kind soul? I ask myself that all the time, and all that I can tell you is that she noticed the little things. She had a spark that, even in the blackest of black spaces, held on for dear life. In her suffering, she noticed the little bird out of the car window. In her sadness, she looked for rainbows. In her pain, she made sure that others were safe. She always loved the little things in life, and that is what kept her going. No one cared to notice the sad girl who was in front of them; they blamed things like puberty and hormones. They blamed the girl who was different and noticed things that others didn't. They blamed the girl who had to grow up before her time and just pretended that everything was fine. She had pretended her entire life, so being gang raped at 13 was no different for her. This was her life. This is what she was meant for: just keep breathing. Through it all, the suffering never stopped. She never lost her kindness; she never lost sight of the beautiful little things that were all around her. She noticed the lightning bugs, and the caterpillar, the way the rain hit the window, and the Shar-Peis that lined her wall. She loved the beat of the song and played it over and over until it reached her soul. That is how she survived so beautifully. She did it with no one holding her hand, telling her that she was going to be ok. She did it alone in a world full of millions of people who should have done something. She survived the unimaginable through the little things the world gave her in the deepest, darkest moments. Sometimes all I can see is the blackness, the cluelessness, the brutality. I am learning to see her differently. She suffered more than anyone can imagine. She suffered on a level that has no words. So yes, she is different, she cries, she feels everything deeply. The depth of her pain and the depth of how she views life comes from that girl who suffered so beautifully that no one on the outside noticed. I am so very grateful for that girl. I am her, and she is me.
I am not even sure where this is going, but this word seems to be front and center. Just the injustice in the world all around us, and some of it, there is not a single thing that can be done about it. It started with a client, then there was an ICE protest, then there were all these little things, and I think so many things just aren't fair. There are just so many things in this world that have no rhyme or reason; there are things in this life that just are, and the pieces left in the aftermath can be a lot to process sometimes. I have never been a what-if person; I have never questioned whether life is fair. Lately, I feel like I am there, living in that place where things just are not fair. The things that Spunky had to endure are not fair in any way, shape, or form, and it is hitting me like a lead balloon. Her world should have been so different. She should have been loved, cared for, and protected, but she wasn't. There were a few heroes who will forever be near and dear to my heart, but there was always something that I never got. I was the one on the outside looking in for as far back as I can remember. I never fit in. I never belonged anywhere, and I am sure that part of that is just me and the way that I am, but at the same time, I want to belong somewhere, be someone's favorite, be someone's person. I know that I see the world differently, but that isn't a bad thing; it is just me. I want the me, the person that I am today, to be appreciated. I want to be celebrated for the woman I am, who has dug herself out of the dark to help others see the light. It feels like I am always waiting to be heard and understood, exactly where I am today. And then when I do feel that, I think, oh no, am I too dependent, like am I being unhealthy? All these thoughts in my head make me want to scream. I feel broken sometimes, and as much as I work on my healing, I get frustrated that I feel so deeply, and then in the same breath, I wouldn't be me if I didn't. I wish I was ok with the person that I am, the me that carries this heavy soul that has been through so much. I see how far I have come. I know that I will never stop until I find the peace that I am looking for, but shit, this journey is not for the weak, and I am so tired. I am beyond exhausted and there is so much work to do. I want a time when I don't have to fight. I fight for spunky every single day, to find the things she never got and to experience life with her head up high. I fight so that someday, she can breathe.
I am not looking for easy, and I will say it a million times that I don't expect anything on a silver platter. There are millions of people in this world who have survived the unimaginable. I am just asking for some peace. My own little part of the world that is filled with kindness, wonder, and presence. A place where the little things are seen, appreciated, and adored. Life is hard, and we are all out there doing the best that we can, and I will always always do what I can to make sure that my part of the world is everything that I need it to be now and what I needed back then. I don't have all the right words right now, my chest is heavy, and I have such a longing for all the things I never got, all the experiences I never had. It's that soul kind of sad, from always fighting and struggling to find that just right place where you fit in the world. Here is something. These words are better than mine.
I think right now there are too many things that I don't want to be true, that I know are true, and are hitting me like a ton of bricks. I am just so sad. Everything makes me sad about Spunky and the life she had to live, and all the normal life things that she never got to experience. The things she endured and the secrets she had to keep. The way she was treated and how she had to survive on her own and figure things out. The weight of all that she has had to carry is weighing on me, and I am not sure what to do with all of the feelings. I am further in this life than I ever thought I would be, and yet that ever-present sadness is holding on like stickers to your feet on a hot summer's day. No matter where I step or what I do, some things just hurt that are a part of my story that I don't want to be. I am not comfortable with the questions I don't know, and I am also not comfortable with the things that I do know. So, I am stuck somewhere in the middle, and no matter which way I look, there are no flowers, no happy ending. Between what I do know and what I don't lies my broken heart. What I don't know makes me angrier, because no one helped me fill in the missing pieces. So many could have made the healing process something better for ame and no one made that choice.
The tears shed are different; they seem to have a greater impact, they are more intense and so very sharp around the edges. I think Spunky is closer than she has ever been, getting comfortable and trusting me more and more. I feel like she is shifting, more into a place of change than just sitting there on that couch in a state of terror. Maybe all the tears are from moving from that state of terror and not being able to have any emotions because they were too intense and too big to even comprehend. Today, the emotions are just as big, just as terrifying, only I am not that same scared, tortured, alone 13-year-old girl that I once was. I am seeing things more from the woman that I am today, standing strong in the things I believe about myself as a person, and the knowledge that I am stronger and more aware now than I have ever been. There are still parts of us that feel so very different from everyone around me, so very foreign. And there are parts of us that are the same. Our will to live, to make things better. Our ability to see the little things, the little bird drinking from a tiny puddle, the fainest rainbow, the twinkle in my granddaughter's eyes. We both have this ever-so-soft spirit that wants nothing more than for there to be peace all around us. We both have this strong sense of justice that deserves to be seen, that gives us this fight to make things better for others.
I have worked so hard on her healing, wanting more for her. I have fought for her freedom from the darkness that she was accustomed to. I wanted all the things for her that she never received in this life. There is a part of me that wonders if all of her will heal. I think there will be places, forever untouchable things that will always ache. I am not sure I am okay with that, but I think it's just the way it is. I am trying to accept it, but that is so much easier said than done.
I think I'm maybe leaning into what happened, sitting with the reality. I wish the things that happened weren't true. So many told me that I wasn't telling the truth, and little did they know that I wished I wasn't. Lying would have been so much easier than admitting the things that had happened to me. I have to work on getting the things that were said to her out of my head. The blame, the shame, the judgment that I was the one who had done something wrong. I still hold onto those things. I must have done something wrong. I did dance with him, but I never imagined he would do what he did. I saw the words 'unlived life,' and that is so fitting for Spunky. She never got to live life or experience things as she should have, and I can do a lot for her, but there are also things she will never have or get to experience. Life was more than cruel to her, and I am working hard for her to understand what happened to her without any shadow of blame. The shame that she feels is huge because there are still so many things she doesn't know or understand. I am learning to be ok with that, because nothing I do can change it. I will be glad when she can trust that she didn't do anything wrong, and that we deserve all that the world has to offer today with out looking back.
I wish I totally understood why I dread my birthday. I want to be excited and celebrate, but there is this fear that I am going to get excited, and then just like that, be left and disappointed. I don't remember the last birthday I enjoyed. I was even getting frustrated at work. I was talking about the kids' birthdays, and my para kept mentioning mine, and I was getting so angry! I'm not talking about me, now shut up. It's that kind of overwhelm for me. I hate the attention, the lead-up to the day, and all the things. I don't remember the last time that I truly enjoyed my birthday, honestly. Do not get me wrong, Mariska always goes above and beyond, and I often feel guilty that I am not more excited. She plans for days, sometimes even weeks; she decorates the house, blows up balloons, and she always goes all out. It's awesome what she does, and there is a part of me that feels more than guilty that I would just like to forget about the day. Someone said well you deserve to be celebrated, and I just am not ready to hear that. This year,, the kids made plans. Mariska was up early wanting me to open my present. She made breakfast and was so happy. They chose the restaurant, and we had the most amazing dinner. We had cake, everything was perfect, and still, in me, there is such a great relief when it's over.
It's almost like my past birthdays have completely ruined the future ones. The parties growing up, I think there was one where no one showed up. I can remember going to a few, but I felt like the odd one out. I didn't feel like I could celebrate and have fun like the others. I can think of one birthday that we went to the beach that turned it being about everything else. It was the weekend that Gotye was on Saturday Night Live. There was arguing and fighting, and all I wanted to do was go out on the pier, but that never happened. That was the same time that my mother bought me a computer mouse as a gift. It's as though I was not meant to celebrate, and not sure I would even know how.
I don't know what it is, but they make me sad. They make me feel alone, and I wish that I knew the root of that, because I have a lot of them left to go.
These past few weeks have been more than emotional for me. I feel like everything and nothing is wrong at the same time. Things are going well, and then this sense of dread comes out of nowhere. There have been a few nights when I get home and just want to go upstairs and get into bed. Exhaustion is a very real thing right now. It's the end of the year at school, 5 more Mondays to be exact. I am working on completing my internship. And there is life that just keeps lifeing. A house that needs to be taken care of, laundry to be folded, shelves to make, just so many things, and not nearly enough time to get them all completed. I feel like there are so many things begging for my attention, and I am not sure where to start. The other night, as I got into bed, the tears came so fast that all I could do was cry myself to sleep. That so deep ache that is looking for some kind of release.
Professionally, I am growing, learning, and doing all of the things that I have dreamed about for so long. There are times when I still can't believe it and want to pinch myself and make sure it's really real. I am making a difference, I am helping others, and it makes my heart oh so happy. Even Mark, the other week, asked about me noticing my accomplishments, and I shook my head, saying things like I'm just me. I do what I do, and I love every second of it. Then he said, " Maybe you get that satisfaction and reward from helping others, from seeing them succeed and thrive, and I thought, yes, that's it. So much of what is under and behind my fight is wanting better for others. I want others to never have to feel the things that I have felt. And it isn't that I can fix anything, but I can be there, listen, and help them feel heard.
Personally, I am really ok. Most of the time, I am fine, but there is that ever-present lingering ache. There are some rough patches, when the weight of what has happened feels like a million oceans smashing against my chest. That deep sadness that keeps rearing its ugly head, is something that I wish would go away. We are talking about things that happened 38 years ago, that often feel like it was just last week . That questioning myself, that mode that makes me so angry, that there are things that I just don't remember. I feel like something has been tapped into, and I have to adjust all over again to a new kind of normal. There are things that I just don't want to be true, and no matter how hard I want things to be different, there are things that I can't change. There are times that I can't go back to and understand or make them any different. I think I have hit a very deep sad that I think a lot of the sad comes from. Having to survive so much on my own and never getting to be sad, never being cared for and never having an understanding of all the things that I was having to deal with.Maybe it's just all catching up. There is so much joy and light in my everyday, to have this kind of sad be so big and have such a looming presence is really hard for me.
Those what if questions are appearing, and I feel like with each one brings more questions that there are no answers for. What if this, what if that, and some of those answers challenge everything that I have always believed. There are so many things that I don't want to be true, that I have to face, and it's terrifying. All the things that I wonder, What would things have been like if I didn't loose Bella. What would that have looked like? Would I have said something about my father, would I have gotten to keep her. I wonder how I would have been treated. Would I have been believed , Would I have been cared for ? Would Bella have been cared for, how would that trip to the emergency room turned out different ? Would CPS have gotten involved would my mother have stood up for me ? Would I have gotten the help and support that I needed all that time ago ? Would I have been able to be a mom? Would my father have hurt her as well ? Would anything really change ? In the end, I onlt have small facts that my mind holds onto for dear life. I keep gathering scattered pieces, hoping one day they’ll fit the empty spaces I carry.
Often I wonder what she would have been like ? This year she would have been 38. 38 years old, and it's more than hard to believe that I would have a daughter that old, that those things that happened still have a hold on me, there are still nightmares. That there are still questions that I go over and over in my mind, trying to create some kind of sense of them. I punish myself for the vanished moments, that happened that are still somewhere in my mind. I forget that a crime was committed and I wasn't the one who did anything wrong. It is carved in my bones by the words that I heard and the actions around me, I didn't deserve care, understanding or warmpth of any kind. My skin holds echoes of those moments I never asked to relive, shadows that return without warning. I move through the world with memories, feelings and thoughts that no amount of water could ever wash away. The things that I carry , that i have carried since I was 13 are so overwlelming, so unthinkable. The mere fact that I survived sometimes takes my breath away.
I want there to be a pease, a calmness, a resolve that I did the best that I could as a 13 year old girl. I want to place the shame and the hate on all of those around me who failed that little girl who never let her grieve, never acknowledged what had happened to her little soul. I found her and I am doing everything I can to being her back to a place where she can stand tall with me and know that she was just a girl who survived unimaginable things and yet continues to change the world with the woman that she has become. I will keep fighting for her and for me as we continue to make a soft place in the world for others just like us.
