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Always a Voice

Empowering Survivors of Abuse & Trauma

Thought Spot

Thought Spot


Posted on 12 August, 2016 at 16:30

Category: Abuse & Trauma

~by Jillian Short 

Grief comes in. It camps inside and I grow so numb to what I’m feeling that my whole life becomes blurry. Lifeless.

This circle/cycle gains momentum until I am sucked under. I make poor decisions—or no decisions at all. I unwittingly—or purposely—walk away from relationships. I hurt those who love me. Sometimes I even hurt myself.

My inability to engage—to feel—is misunderstood by those around me. Now I feel pressure and judgement on top of the pain. This does nothing but compound my fear. Which causes me to withdraw even more.

My inability to gain control of my tilting world fills my otherwise gentle soul with rage and hostility. I am frightened by my anger, my pain, my shock. I fight against it. I deny it. I mask it.

I don't want to have hope.

I want to have hope.

I don’t believe in anything anymore.

I want to believe—to believe in fairytales and happy endings.

I want to still believe in love and loyalty.

I can’t feel anything.

I don’t care.


There is no right or wrong way to grieve. Trauma has many causes, symptoms and reactions. Abuse has volatile effects and latent effects.

Here is the bottom line: Even those who have the least amount of self-esteem know that life is priceless.

It is our natural instinct to love and protect ourselves. The existence of these amazing survival apps within our bodies is the very reason anger—and even withdrawal—is now forcing its way to the surface of our lives.

Our tears are our pressure-valves, designed to allow us to decompress.

Our laughter is our medicine, coming to the defense of our sadness and discouragement.

Our hopes and dreams are our cheerleaders, jumping up in the face of loss—urging us forward.

Our anger is our own personal bodyguards, relentless and gruff, fighting on our behalf. Pushing us to protect ourselves, to believe in ourselves.

Our faith—even though we may not see it—is our lighthouse, sending out pulses, showing us little blips of light here and there so we can take another step. And then another.


When was the last time you were kind to yourself and truly embraced where you are, who you are and how far you have come? When is the last time you told yourself, I understand?


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Reply stan smith luxe
0:15 on 1 July, 2018 
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stan smith luxe
Reply pat
13:40 on 13 August, 2016 
Grief comes in all forms. Regret is one of them. I'm (politely), elderly, but actually I'm OLD. My children are grown; I have great grandchildren. I have watched my daughter with her ten children all these years.The hugs, the verbal expressions of love. I have watched TV people hug and kiss their kids, even tousling their hair.
I cannot remember ever telling my children that I loved them, or remember giving them a hug. Wouldn't I remember?
My parents were loving, caring people but I cannot remember either of them ever telling me they loved me. I knew they did, though. It was a given and I was secure in that love. In talking to other women my age, they say the same thing; it was different back then.
How did I show my love? By doing. I put three meals a day on the table, every day. I was always there when they got home from school. One child dried while I washed dishes, and we talked a little. Not much, like today's TV moms, but a little. We ironed back then, I kept a clean house, baked cookies, made goodies for birthday parties and their teachers at Christmas, went to PTA, Open House Night, encouraged sports, helped with homework, on and on but I never said I love you. I just unconsciously took it for granted that they knew I loved them.
I have really beat myself up over this because it can pull me down so fast, but they have assured me that they felt loved and were secure.
Oh well, It is what it is. No way to change it now.