I'm Rachel.
I’m so glad you’re here.
All tagged Trauma Therapy
Parents love and nurture their children, provide and lead to the best of their abilities. Then all of a sudden the clock strikes some magical tune between the ages of 5-7 and a child is launched out into the real world. Alone, children without the full ability to navigate the prefrontal cortex, emotions, or fight and flight instincts are asked to trust and follow a complete stranger.
As Easter draws nearer and my days continue to contain mile-long to-do lists, I focus on what matters most. The party and presents don’t matter. The time spent with my children that I’ll never get back matter more. The perfect way the cake looks or whether I remember the party favors won’t be remembered but the ways in which I encourage my boys, bring them up in righteousness and lead in gratitude will resonate with them for the rest of their lives.
I was a believer by the time I entered into recovery for the first time but I was gripping so tightly to the lies and shame of my past that I could not fully trust my Savior to actually save me. I had to address my mess. I had to accept where I was, what was around me, how it was seeping into my every pore and affecting every part of my life before I could accept Christ’s promises for healing.
Grief and joy are never far removed from one another. One emotion can easily access the other. Neither emotion is every far from your embrace. Yet, grief is a tightness in your chest. Grief is a crashing wave. Grief is lingering and heavy. Grief is the emotion we don’t want to experience, we are ready to be rid of it as soon as it sweeps over us and yet this unwelcome visitor persists. Unfortunately, and this is what the work of Christ teaches us, without grief we would not cherish joy.
God placed Sean in my life at a time when I was suicidal and looking for any way to have to stop covering up my heartache with jokes and a goofy personality. I was so ashamed by the sexual abuse. I was ashamed of my family and home. I didn’t want people to know how broken I was in fear of the lies that I’d been told, “No one would ever love me.”
This threw a wrench in my writing as I planned to be getting published right now, not to expound and revamp. But my plans do not often work out perfectly.
For EIGHT years my uncle abused me in literally every way a person can be abused. And EIGHT years ago, He was sentenced to ten years in prison with another five added the following year.
A spoken word poem about the power of identity and the reminder that nothing is permanent in this life. What happened yesterday can be made new.
Have you ever had one of those days where you're approached by a good friend while yelling at your husband in the parking lot of church? NO? Well, I must be alone in this because that totally happened to me.
