Sunday, March 10, 2024

NO, I don't have a cigarette!!!

March 20th, 2023 is the day that I was admitted inpatient last year and that date is fast approaching. I won't lie and say that I haven't been thinking about my experience there. I actually think about it daily. It was too crazy not to.  People ask me all the time, "How are you doing". My answer is usually "good".  I AM good but my real answer should be, "I wake up everyday thinking about my abuse and have to faithfully put effort in to not having it affect my day". I'd like to continue to blog about my experience from where the last blog stopped. To not be confused, you may want to read past entries. 

(In a previous blog - I had a vision, after doing EMDR therapy, that my inner child was trying to get out of the container.)

Once my mind saw myself (inner child) in that C-Can trying to get out, that's when the new work began. I discussed my vision with my therapist at our next session and she and I talked through how we could let that young girl out, integrate her with me, and move forward from there. It was weird. I closed my eyes and mentally saw me opening the C-Can door, coaxing her out, and talking to her. I also envisioned her coming out of the storage unit and entering the back yard of my parents house where she/I grew up. I showed her around, held her hand, and spoke kindly to her. I don't know why this exercise worked for me. I'm just glad it did. 

The next day in morning large group, my goal for the day was to try and connect with and get to know my inner child better. I mentioned to the group, "I know this sounds so crazy". Several people encouraged me and one lady said, "If you can't talk to her, pray for her" - That I COULD do. 

That's what I ended up doing. On every break, she and I took a walk. It got to the point where I was confessing to her how sorry I was for betraying her, hating her, and never loving her. I told her she was innocent and only a child who was taken advantage of over and over again.  I reassured her that she did NOTHING wrong and none of it was her fault. I told her that being told, "I love you, I love you" in your ear while being abused was absolutely confusing and not a representation of real love. I talked to her as I was crying. From that day on, I haven't stopped nurturing her, talking to her, and cherishing her. I have to. She deserves it...and it's healing. This was another breakthrough that occurred during my inpatient stent. 

About this time, I was integrated in to the Trauma Track. Your therapist has to recommend you and you have to meet certain criteria to be a part of this separate, smaller group. Just like it says, you have to be a victim of Trauma and be a trustworthy group member. This smaller group was intimate and very intense. The stories were awful, the repercussions of the trauma were obvious and it was hard. So many of us shared so much in common. 

Besides EMDR, my therapist introduced me to sand-table therapy and picture-therapy cards. For the remaining weeks, we did a mixture of those and cognitive/talk therapy. Talk about weird and feeling vulnerable!! I was use to talk therapy but the others were just super different and strange to me...but it worked. The combination of those therapies were able to release certain memories in me that needed to be put in the light and then discussed. 

Some random facts...

If you get out of bed on time, take meds like you are supposed to, attend all groups and participate, you earn points. If you get 100%, you are taken to lunch in the nearby town at a restaurant of your choice. This was huge because leaving the property was a big treat (and you could listen to the radio in the van on the drive there). 4 of us earned 100% so we ate Thai food for lunch one day. Big treat.

If you score 90% or above, you earn a field trip to either the ice cream shop, bowling, or The Springs. These fieldtrips got you away from the property for about 2 hours once a week. Being a good patient also earned you extra phone calls. I was a good patient.

On Wednesday evenings, you are given a carbonated drink and a candy bar.

The food served there was pretty decent. It wasn't South Louisiana food but it wasn't bad. They had a salad bar too. They did serve "Jambalaya" one evening but it was runny!! I didn't have an appetite most of my stay due to well, being inpatient at a mental facility, and my meds curbed my appetite as well. I lost weight there. 

The majority of the patients smoked or vaped. There might have been a handful of us folks who didn't. You had to order your vapes or cigarettes on Monday by 10am. No exceptions. Well, if you miss out, you had the smokers begging others for cigarettes and tempers were tested. People vaped from other peoples vapes.

Bras were scarcely worn.

Some people were dirty and didn't have clean clothes.

Some slept in group sessions ALL the time. 

I saw 4 snakes when I was there. They looked like blue runners. 

There was a fire in the bushes by the group room. A fire extinguisher had to be used. The group room building wasn't a smoking area and the fire was caused by a cigarette.

I ended up being one of the patients who napped by the pool sometimes in the patio lounger during our longest break.

I read 2 books and started coloring to pass the time. 

There was an altercation one day where punching and black eyes were involved.

Bipolar patients were found jumping in the pool with their clothes on or jumping in the pool with their clothes off.

One guy raised his hand at least 20 times in an hour during big group and challenged everything and another guy always interrupted anyone who was speaking during group. 

Rapper names were given to some of the guys. 

F$ck was screamed out loud all of the time. 

We exercised a couple of times a week. We made a big exercise circle and each person had to say an exercise and we did that exercise 10 times. 

I had THE BEST room mate and we processed and helped each other at the end of the day. We have stayed in touch since being discharged. I had two roommates while I was there and both were great. 

We rocked in rocking chairs on the cabin porch in the evenings until the mosquitos came out and it was med time. 

My husband and I had therapy sessions together via zoom with my therapist. 

The majority of the patients were very young. Only about 20% of the patients were over 35. 

A behavioral health tech stayed either in your cabin or on the porch of your cabin all night. 

You couldn't have any snacks in your cabin. They did cabin searches often looking for contraband. 

You were woken up in the middle of the night to get our blood pressure checked and we were occasionally weighed in the middle of the night. 


There are a lot of things typed in this blog that are just crazy.  

Positives -I ended up in the calmest cabin. I had great cabin mates. I had a fantastic therapist, and I was a member of the trauma track. The Psychiatrist was great and the Nurse practitioner really listened. God spoke to me, I walked with HIM daily, and he revealed things to me that were very therapeutic and I'm thankful for that. 

Mail time was the highlight of the day for me and it occurred at supper time. I received 54 pieces of mail while I was there!!!! I was humbled to the core. That mail from my family, coworkers and friends was LIFE for me. It kept me going and I was SOOOOO thankful for the support I had. My coworkers even sent a picture of them doing a pyramid for me (IYKYK).  I'll keep those letters forever. 

Talk to you later,



Wednesday, September 13, 2023

Is that who I think it is?


GOALS - Forgive myself! Find my voice! Be vulnerable!

Inpatient experience cont...refer to the previous blogs for the beginning of my inpatient hospital experience.

FYI - I  have a strong NEED to talk about my experience in person and on here.  Like my friend put it, "The experience was a WHOLE THING".  This particular blog is about one of the most therapeutic moments I had there and how it unfolded. 

My cottage mates were from different places but most seemed to be from somewhere in Florida. During my 32 days inpatient, my cottage mates changed off and on as some finished the program, left the program or new pts came in. I am in no way defining these women by their diagnoses but I did want to share with you some of what we, as one cottage, were struggling with. PTSD/Trauma/sexual trauma/rape, depression, anxiety, bipolar 1and 2, Schizophrenia (different types), Meth addiction, multiple personality disorder, suicide attempts and self harm, suicidal ideation, OCD, and other drug addictions. Moods, fuses, and patience were tested until our medication regimen started working for us. I have NEVER been exposed to or have witnessed such raw, hard core mental illness' - EVER. With that being said, I saw how broken the world was by just being a participant to my cottage. There were 40ish other residents in different cottages with other mental issues and emotional pain as well. 

On the second one-on-one visit with my therapist, she asked if I had ever done EMDR therapy. EMDR therapy stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing and is used a lot for treatment of PTSD. I had not. I was scared, felt vulnerable, and it took me a minute to agree to it. I would be out of my comfort zone, not in control, at her mercy and I had to trust her (I really just met her). I also knew she would be observing me closely while my eyes were closed and that brought a little anxiety. For EMDR therapy, I wore headphones that were connected to a device that sent alternating beeps in my ears for different periods of time. Before starting, she asked me to think of a "Target memory" that was hard and stressful. While the alternating beeps were going off in my headphones, I had to focus on that target memory while my eyes were closed. The goal of EMDR is to retract stuck memories or hard memories that you repressed. The beeping stops after a few seconds (therapist controls this), you take the headphones off, and talk to the therapist about what came up for you in your mind. Once you've discussed what you remembered, you put the headphones back on and continue your thoughts about that subject as the beeps start again.  I think we went about 6 or 7 times before we finished, talking and discussing between each one. It was different, it was hard, and it was exhausting. When we finished our cycles of EMDR and the headphones were put away, she asked me to think of a container of some sort. I was like, WHAT? She said, "any container that you can think of - big or small".  I didn't know where she was going with this but I thought of a cargo storage container, aka "C Can". I've seen them converted to camps, bars, offices, etc and thats what I thought of. I imagined mine with a window and a door. ANYWAY, she told me to close my eyes and store everything I thought of during EMDR and what we talked about today and put it in that container. She said that it would be safe there, and to let the container store it until we picked it up again to talk about it more. 

I left her office and immediately had to join the rest of the residents in large group. This is when I wish I could have gone and taken a nap. I at least wanted to sit alone to start to process what just happened. Those aren't the rules, though. The rigid schedule remains and therapy continues, as scheduled, 7 days a week. 

Later that night when I was lying in my bed after my shower, I was thinking about and analyzing my experience with EMDR therapy and the container with the window and door. As clear as day (in my head) I saw a young girl about 10 years old or so moving from one end of the container to the other. She would look out of the window then go back to walking from one end to the other. She had blonde hair and was barefoot. She was not frantic but was trying to find a way out. AS CRAZY AS THIS SOUNDS (and I know it sounds crazy), that young girl was me. My inner child! Up until this very moment, I have hated her, disrespected her, viewed her as dirty, blamed her, and shamed her. That's why I didn't have self compassion or self love for myself for all of these years. I've viewed my inner child as someone who was a part of me and should have known better. A child who should have said no, fought back, walked out and was to blame. Unfortunately that's what sexual abuse will do to you. The abusers are free of shame and the survivors become full of it.  Now I "see" her trapped in a C Can, stuck, scared and unsure of what to do next. I just laid there kind of in shock. I was in shock because this was the first moment that I saw her and felt compassion for her. 

                   (Here I am at 10 years old- this is the age I saw myself in the container- FYI, I LOVED softball so much.)

I had attempted inner-child work here at home but couldn't get past the hate towards her. That's one of the places that I was stuck!!! I despised her for so long, always dismissed her but now I feel somewhat sorry for her. THIS WAS HUGE and I had to figure out my next move. 

Much love and more to come,


Sunday, June 4, 2023

Survival mode ~ Mental Hospital Experience continues...

Mental Hospital Experience continues...

I woke up on my first full day in high-alert mode. Tech's came in our cottage at 7:15am to wake us up and I knew breakfast started around 8am. As a nurse, I have worked with people who have been diagnosed with mental illnesses. I've been around alcoholics, drug addicts and homeless people. The difference at this facility was that I was one of them. I wasn't a nurse here. I was a patient with a mental illness, surrounded by really sick mentally ill patients. Many patients weren't regulated with meds just yet, many were manic, many were paranoid, many were detoxing, and many were angry. 

I became very hypervigilant and became extremely alert, careful, and cautious. I'm use to being hypervigilant due to my trauma and cPTSD. I don't like my back to restaurant entrances (so I can always see who is entering), I like the end seat in rows (close to the aisle for easy access to exits), and I will usually scan any room first before I enter. Hypervigilance was taken to another level at this facility though. My eyes were opened to mental illnesses at their worst; one-on-one care for suicidal patients; irate addicts; screamers and cussers; tons of self harm. I was overwhelmed and sad for the situation so many were in.  

During the first few days, I met with a Psychiatrist to discuss my history, diagnosis, and need for medications. He wrote two prescriptions for new meds for me. One helps with Dopamine and one helps with Serotonin. I also met my therapist who performed a GAD-7 (generalized anxiety disorder screening), and a PHQ-9 (patient health questionnaire) on me. My scores were not good but that wasn't a surprise to me. I felt extremely sad and anxious. I did get a calm, good vibe from my therapist though and I was extremely thankful for that. I also met with a Nurse Practitioner. I confessed to her that I was extremely humbled by being there and as a nurse, I'm use to giving the care - not receiving it. She looked me right in the eyes and said, "everybody needs help sometimes". She told me to focus on my treatment, don't get caught up in the negativity or drama that may occur and trust my therapist because "she's a great one". 

I started going through the motions of the days. I would observe everything very closely. I would listen and take notes in group, cry alone during the breaks (I missed my husband and boys), eat a snack when told, eat meals when told, take meds when told, use the bathroom when told, sleep when told. We had a strict schedule. I was getting to know some of the patients, their behaviors, how their buttons got pushed, all the while trying to figure out who I could trust. This was a hard time because I was extremely depressed when I got there, wound up tight by anxiety, and I felt that my current situation was making it worse. Even though meds were started for me, they had not really begun to work. 

I was humbled to the point of exhaustion and tears. On breaks, I started walking the property and praying. That became my activity of choice during all breaks. God and I spent a lot of time together. I was isolating myself and not getting to know the other patients but I was in survival mode. Also, any time in prayer with God is a time well spent. 

We usually start morning groups with introducing ourselves, saying where we were from (I was the only one from Louisiana), and sharing with the group what our goal for the day was. This facility had the capacity to hold approximately 50 patients and I believe 46 patients were all together in one room in the mornings. When it was a particular gentleman's turn, he would not only say his name and goal daily, but he would also say why he was there and what his addiction was. He was the only one who would do that; (ex- My name is Bob and I'm an addict).  This was not required in big groups there and many people didn't disclose why they were there or what they were working on. I had a few people inquire those first few days as to why I was there and my response was always depression and trauma. That's all I was brave enough to say. On break (after my walk and prayer time), I asked that gentleman why he was so forthcoming with his issues when he introduced himself every morning. His answer was this - "By saying my problem, I hold myself accountable to accept it, claim it, work on it, fight it and own it." He also said that he didn't do it for a few days and he felt himself regressing. I went to bed that night thinking of what my goal would be for the next day. I had a plan...if I was brave enough to do it. 

The next morning was Day 9 for me. Up to this point, I was in survival mode, doing all things, connecting with some people but still fearful/overwhelmed to open up in large groups. It was morning group time and it was time for everyone to introduce themselves and say their goal. When it was my turn, I said that I was influenced by the gentleman who states his name and why he was there. My goal for the day was to do that too. With my heart beating out of my chest and my palms sweaty with my eyes looking at the floor,  I said "My name is Stacie and I'm a survivor of sexual abuse". I lost my breath but sat still in my chair. The young lady next to me then introduced herself. I had done it. I looked at that young lady a minute later with tears in my eyes and said, "THAT WAS SO HARD".  The magnitude of that one statement had me weak in the knees and unsteady. I had to walk out of that room filled with 46 people who I just met days ago and get some air.  I made it outside before falling to the ground. I was shaking and embarrassed and humbled to the core. The next thing I knew, I was being asked if I was ok. The gentleman who had influenced me to do it in the first place had come out to check on me. I started crying and couldn't stop. I think I cried tears that covered a lifetime of hurt. He stayed with me until I could breath again and kept telling me "you'll be fine" and that I was brave. I re-entered group and found out that others had confessed why they were there too when they introduced themselves that day as well. It was a pivotal moment in my recovery. I had taken my "mask" off and fully exposed myself in a very vulnerable place. That gentleman also told me that I was exactly where I needed to be. He believed that God orchestrated all of this and placed me here with these particular people, at this time, for a purpose. I was inspired. I had the same amount of anxiety the next few days when I introduced myself and stated that I was a survivor of sexual abuse. Eventually it got easier - not easy, but easier.

It became clear to me that everyone there was fighting a huge battle caused by deep hurts. Yes, some had serious diagnoses and seemed to have different/additional challenges as well but we all wanted healing, therapy and change. Things changed for me after that. My eyes were opened, my heart grew bigger and I am forever grateful for my sharp mind. 

I'll stop here for now but I'll leave you with this~ you never know how God will use you in someone's life. Sometimes a couple of words and an encouraging conversation can equip others to be bold and obedient. In turn, they will make strides in their healing and faith. 

Hugs to all,


Wednesday, May 17, 2023

Mental Hospital serves biggest piece of Humble Pie...

Let me just say it...I recently spent a month in an inpatient mental health treatment facility in Florida. This facility was both a Drug Rehab/Mental Health treatment center. I was there from March 20th to April 20th.  Now, let me tell you WHY I want to disclose this...because God did a work in me while I was there and I want the world to know about it.

There's SO much to say about my experience! Let me start by saying that May is Mental Health Awareness month so now is the perfect time to share my story. I am diagnosed with cPTSD, Major Depressive disorder and anxiety. Back in February, my therapist mentioned to me about inpatient treatment options. She mentioned this to me because I confessed to her that I was struggling with feeling stuck. What I was really dealing with was my hard headedness, fear, and avoidance. Lots of mental health work has been done on my abuse but I had a few really important things to work out and deal with. I explained to her that it would take me a while to even consider opening up in group therapy every week here at home.  Once I actually would, the time would be up and I would have to bottle my story up for another week. I would go back to being a wife, mom, and nurse while stuffing my thoughts away- only to repeat the process over and over again. STUCK and FRUSTRATED. 

I gave inpatient treatment a lot of thought and started talking to my insurance company on how that works.  I had a lot to consider - being away from my family for at least a month, the stigma, my job, the costs etc. The biggest thing to consider was that I would be immersed in my story for at least a month - my sexual abuse, the trauma, the stories, the perpetrators, my feelings, my emotions, new therapists! There would be no avoiding it. Prior to going, my depression and anxiety worsened. I hide it very well and I was exhausted from pretending. 

After talking with my husband, we decided that I should go. I bought a plane ticket and prepared to go to Florida. Naively, I packed my suitcase with my belongings and comfort items and was taken to the airport in New Orleans on an early Monday morning. That was a hard hug and goodbye. Once I landed in Orlando (which was hard because everyone else seemed to be going to DisneyWorld), the Mental facility sent an Uber for me. The Uber then drove me an hour from Orlando to the inpatient hospital. It was considered inpatient but thankfully this facility was a rural/ranch style setting with lots of acreage. Thats one of the reasons I picked it. During my ride there, I was filled with anxiety, anticipation, and fear for what lied ahead. When we arrived, there were several people outside talking, walking around or smoking. The driver asked, "what is this place"? I told him it was a camp - lol. I wasn't ready to tell someone that I was being dropped off at a mental hospital. 

Admissions took a while. I had to use a breathalyzer, do a urine drug screen, answer a million questions, take a picture (mugshot), and get strip searched. Remember, this is a drug rehab facility as well as a mental health place. All of my belongings were sifted through, sorted, and some were confiscated from me. My makeup mirrors were broken off, glass makeup bottles were not allowed, anything with wires or sharp objects were locked up (hairdryer, curling iron, bras with underwires, razor). We couldn't have any aerosols so my hairspray and dry shampoo were taken. I had brought a journal with metal binding that I couldn't have.  No metal - no fingernail clippers, no tweezers. Cell phones were forbidden and taken from us and locked away. The only way to have music is if you brought an MP3 player. I did not have one and underestimated how much I would miss my music while I was there. 

I made a "safe call" to my husband to let him know that I arrived. I would not be able to make another call until another 72 hours (facility rules so that you can "get adjusted to your new environment"). I also learned that I would only be able to use the phone twice a week for small increments of time. I cried to my hubby on my safe call and somehow he was able to reassure me and encourage me. I then signed paperwork about rules for leaving AMA (against medical advice), and that this facility had the right to call the sheriffs office if I acted out, or was a threat to myself or others. I would then be handcuffed and hospitalized in a locked unit for 3 days. To say my anxiety was high is an understatement. I was absolutely overwhelmed and cried to my Behavioral Health tech that I thought I might be in the wrong facility. 

I was then taken to my cottage where I would be staying. There were 4 cottages. 2 female cottages, 1 male cottage, and 1 co-ed cottage. The co-ed cottage was where the nurses station and nurses were and I was told that the patients that needed to be watched more closely stayed there. I quickly unpacked the things that I brought that were not confiscated, and was shown around the facility. After that, I was told that the next group started a 3pm. I had a little free time before 3 so I just walked around a little. There were people smoking, people sleeping in pool lounge chairs (the facility had a big pool), people swimming, people chatting, people dancing, people walking, people reading, people journaling, people cussing, people talking to themselves, people yelling...I walked to the furthest corner of the building by myself and cried. OVERWHELMED!!

I somehow got through groups that evening and was greeted by a sweet lady patient who introduced herself to me. After group, she walked me to the cafeteria where supper was served and showed me the process and allowed me to sit with her and her friend. She also introduced me to a few people who were sitting around us. I was SO thankful for her. Game changer. I sure hope she is reading this and realizes just how much that meant to me. After supper, I learned that there was one more group and then you are able to go to your cottage. I learned the grueling schedule that is expected of us. 

7:15 - wake up  

8:15 - meds then breakfast 

9:00 - 1st group

10:00 - 2nd group


11:00 - 3rd group

12:00 - lunch

1:00 - 2:45 - break (outside) 

3:00 - 4th group 


4:00 - 5th group

5:00 - Supper

6:00 - 6th group


7:00 - Cottages for shower, laundry, visiting, designated phone time

8:15 - Night meds, then bedtime

Monday, Wednesday and Friday - individual therapy with my appointed therapist in addition to scheduled group therapy.

I learned that this schedule was 7 days a week (I repeated this schedule for 32 days straight). 

I did not have a room mate on my first night.  My cottage was set up to house 2 people per room and those 2 people shared a bathroom. Our cottage held a total of 8 women. There were no door knobs and the bathroom doors were cut down/shortened for emergency access if needed and cameras were set up in the living room.

That first night I was so sad, so humbled by where I was, so overwhelmed and so scared. I had packed my bible and clung to it that night. I randomly flipped my bible open and it opened to Psalms. My eyes seemed to focus straight on Psalm 30:11-12.

Psalm 30:11-12 You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever. 

That was my HOPE! I have worn a "sackcloth of abuse" my whole life and God was telling me that he will remove it and clothe me with joy! I needed and wanted desperately to get my JOY back. I've been sad and depressed from my abuse for soooooooo long. I knew I had final work to do here and HE just confirmed it for me. My work would be hard, sad, embarrassing and scary. With the therapy schedule, I knew that I would be focusing on my problems, hardships and sexual abuse non stop as well. I still held on to that hope from God and rested soundly that night. 

I think this is a good stopping point for now. I will probably blog a little more frequently so that I can sing God's praises and also share my journey. Thank you for your interest and stay tuned for more. 

Much love to all, 


Sunday, January 29, 2023

Rated R Night

I did a thing. I did a thing on January 17th and I've been collecting, retrieving and picking up my dignity ever since. 

Back in the fall of 2022, I was talking to my Social Worker about this blog. I've kept BIG secrets my whole life and absolutely use this blog to write my feelings down, share them, and hopefully encourage someone else going through similar situations. Well, even in this blog, I feel like I can't disclose the whole truth- ever. First of all, the whole truth is disgusting and not something most people want to even read. With that said, my BIG secrets are like a poison to my body that I've tried to fight off for about 38 years. My SW presented an idea to me. She encouraged me to write a blog that was unfiltered. She knew I wouldn't want to publish it, but she wanted me to write it in a notebook and maybe bring it to Group therapy to be able to share it and speak my truth - UNFILTERED. 

I stewed about this idea for about 8 wks. In the middle of those 8 wks, I turned 50 years old. My husband and family secretly planned a surprise party for me. It was THE PERFECT PARTY, complete with a big birthday pyramid and everything awesome that makes parties special. Speaking of the word special. I felt immensely loved. Feeling that love gave me strength that I didn't know I needed. I made a mental decision in December. I've got to find the courage to finish this battle, to keep doing the hard things, and to find peace in my heart. Now, after I made this decision, the enemy reared his ugly head and presented me with several very hard things to get through. I shouldn't have been surprised. On the flip side, I was also blessed with a beautiful tropical family vacation, shared with great friends, that allowed us to relax, refuel, laugh, eat and enjoy an all inclusive getaway. 

This gets us to January 17th, 2023. Up until this point, I had only minimally shared details of my abuse with Group Therapy members. As a matter of fact (if you remember in a previous post), I got a lot of back lash and harsh comments from one of the group members about the little bit I did share. He has since left the group. Sharing details was not only a personal risk but it felt like a group risk - even though the current members are fully supportive. On January 17th I blogged, unfiltered, in a notebook at a library and wrote down everything that I really needed and wanted to say. Full truth. As I did this, I was sweating so profusely that I needed to change my shirt. My anxiety was riddled with shame but also filled with freedom to write what I NEEDED to write. Group Therapy was that night and I was determined to bring my notebook and to share what I had written. Blogging unfiltered meant that I wrote sexual abuse details, all and every detail. Blogging unfiltered meant naming my abusers. I not only named my abusers but I told either their relation to me or how I was acquainted to them... all 10 of them. Personally, I have always felt like the details needed to come out of me.  Up until January 17th, I had only really shared details with my therapists. It's always been the hardest thing to talk about. Keeping it "in" and protecting the secrets has proven to be very unhealthy for me. 

I did it. I read to the group what I had written down in my notebook. I named every abuser, how I knew them, spoke every detail and then I had an intense need to leave the room. So I did. 

I found myself face down, curled up in a ball in my SW's office. I couldn't move. I couldn't look at anyone. I couldn't speak. I stayed like this for a long time. My Social Worker took over, spoke to me, and spoke to the group members. Comfort and care were given and I eventually walked out of her office after everyone from group had left, feeling very tired, embarrassed and spent. 

I left my dignity on that floor that night and I have been rebuilding it and reclaiming it ever since. Sexual abuse is funny that way. I shouldn't even be the one embarrassed or ashamed. The abusers should...but I'm left with those intense feelings. 

It's been 12 days since I shared my unfiltered, raw, disgusting, real, rated R, notebook blog with my group. It's been an interesting 12 days to say the least. I am well aware that your life and responsibilities don't slow down just because you had an extremely rough night in therapy but you want them to. Life goes on and most people don't know what you are challenged with or what you go through. I've been reminded of God's love in so many ways but have also been challenged by the enemy still. I was reminded today in church that you have to trust Jesus enough to "step out of the boat" and really trust his journey for you. Be all-in. HE controls what HE changes. I can't explain why January 17th was the day that I decided to share so much but I do know that He orchestrated it and gave me the strength to do it. Ultimately and eventually I will be glad that I "stepped out of the boat" and took a risk to share my details. I'm just still picking up my dignity card and fighting off the shame. 

Thanks for reading,


Thursday, August 18, 2022

Blood stains...

It's hard for me to go back and read earlier blog posts that I've written. In fact, I seldom do. With that said, I may repeat myself but I guess I can't worry about that. I had to get a crown today at the dentist. I hate dental work (but who really likes it). One of my coworkers jokes and says, "Well, now you are a queen because you got a crown". HA. I put in my air pods and cranked up some Christian music while the dental work was being done. I survived and now I am left with half of my face being numb for a few more hours.

I can't tell you how many times Christian music has gotten me through things. For the past several weeks, I have felt like my face after dental work. Half of me is numb, unable to function appropriately and half of me looks fine and can generate a smile. It's very deceiving, even to myself.

I took a nosedive several weeks back and fell in to a dark place. I know what did it but that's not important. I was triggered. Since then, I've been clawing my way back out. Disrespect and Anger! That's where I am. I disrespect myself. I do not value myself like I should. I still feel disgusting, shameful. I can not connect with my inner child and I do not like her. Eye contact in therapy is hard. Dignity, please come back! I've referred to myself as a "caged animal". It's like I'm locked in to never escape this, having to keep the anger in and never release it ~ because releasing it would look like something I've not seen or experienced before. I numb emotions, avoid them and end up like my face after the dentist. 

Like the other side of my face, I'm fully functioning. I go to work, church, the grocery store, I volunteer, and manage my family and home. I count my blessings, I am safe, and I am loved. To me, this is the hardest part. How can I feel so sad, so broken but have all of this good stuff. I'm an oxymoron. I have learned to use the word, "AND". I have a beautiful life  AND  I was sexually abused for a long time. This has helped some. It can be both.

I've often been told...

"That happened a long time ago."

"The past is in the past."

"Forget about the past and focus on your life now."

This may be possible for some people but it has not proven good for me. Just like the picture says at the top of this post,

  ~  "Until you heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed."-everything that picture says, I personally believe. I've tried to bandage the bleeding for so long with my own ways of trying to stop the blood, only to have it all ooze through and stain my life. 

Read the picture again! It's powerful. That picture is my goal. Find strength, open your wounds, stick your hand inside, pull out the pain, release them and make peace with them. No. Easy. Task. In fact, I've gone to my therapist 5 out of 10 days recently, with a necessary session with my hubby. There is not one easy thing about dealing with sexual trauma and the scars that it leaves with you.

I recently attended a beautiful women's conference hosted by my church. I didn't want to go at first and hesitated to sign up. In fact, I waited until the last minute to sign up. I didn't want to put myself in a vulnerable position to feel any more feelings than I was already feeling.

But God...He created and provided a safe space for me that day to bring my pain, feel his presence and be surrounded by loving women who all have some type of struggle or deep wounds to heal. I left, KNOWING, that my trauma holds me back from so many things and that is not what God intended for me. So where's the magic potion or magic wand to make all the pain and trauma go away? I wish! I did make a commitment to myself to be more bold in therapy and share more of what needs to be shared. I proved to myself that I could do it and shared more last Tuesday in Group Therapy. Baby steps...

May your crown not leave your face numb. May your crown be a crown that belongs to a daughter of the King. Let's all try to wear them boldly and believe that we deserve it!

Much Love,



Thursday, April 28, 2022

Hook, Line, and Sinker...


I made a comment in therapy a few weeks ago that has really stuck with me. I said, "the 10 year old me was an idiot". 

I always struggle with guilt and blame when I actually allow myself to deeply think about my abuse. How can one human child be the victim of abuse at almost every turn she made without having something to do with it?

I was raised in a loving, stable home with my parents, brother and sister. My parents loved us deeply, supported us, nurtured us, cared for us and provided us with everything we needed. It was pretty. Still is.  On the flip side of that, I was in contact with people growing up, who I should have been able to trust, and who my parents thought they could trust.  

I've shared before, on a previous blog, that I had multiple offenders. My best recollection of when the abuse started was age 7 and the sexual abuse continued for years until I was 12. When I think of how long it went on and how many people took advantage of me, I get nauseated.

Back to "the 10 year old me is an idiot". It's hard not to think things like...

-why did you let them do those things to you?

-why did you just say stop and no?

-why didn't you run out?

-why didn't you hit them?

-why didn't you scream?

-why in the world did you let them continue to abuse you over and over again?

-why? why? why?

My comment to my therapist was this. I told her that I could see a 7 year old not realizing that something was wrong when being abused. I could even see an 8 year old or a 9 year old getting confused with what was going on. But a 10 year old? In my mind, at 10 years old, I should have been smarter. That makes the 11 year old me and the 12 year old me even dumber. This is dysfunctional thinking, I know! But that's the abused part of me. I have not made peace with "little Stacie" yet. She's stuck in me and I dislike her. My therapist then asked me to think of a 10 year old I knew. How would I react to finding out that that 10 year old was abused? Would I blame her for it all happening? Would I shame her for just being a 10 year old kid? OF COURSE NOT! It's weird when the trauma happens to you and you hold the trauma, though. It's a negative scar and message that abusers give you. You have a warped sense of self.  Does my adult self understand that children are not to blame when abuse occurs? YES!!! Would my adult self nurture, love and support that child with empathy and compassion? YES!!! I have grown to understand and partially accept that I was groomed over time to be abused. I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. This opened me up to being vulnerable to the next person who abused me, then the next, etc. Manipulation at it's finest. It's still tough to wrap my brain around, though. 

The point is - nasty abusers take more than just the innocence from a child. They steal a child's self worth, self esteem, confidence, identity, and can sometimes redirect the child's intended life. My inner child or "little Stacie" and I still haven't mended things. I'm working on it.

Living with trauma is hard. I sometimes wonder who I would be if I didn't have sexual trauma in my past. Almost everything in my past and present have an association with abuse attached to it (parties, gatherings, games, sleepovers, school, holidays, movies, church, college, pregnancy, raising kids, intimacy, working as a nurse, communication, marriage). In each of those, there are beautiful memories too. I just wish I didn't have the abused memories to sift through. 

I do know that living through, crawling through, clawing out of and peeling layers of extensive hurt have strengthened my spiritual life. I've said it before and I'll say it again...God saved me. My relationship with Him is THE most important relationship I have. My marriage and my relationship with my husband is second. Spouses of abused spouses are challenged as well. It takes a strong, loyal, empathetic, and trustworthy partner to support you through the ups and downs of abuse and healing. It's not easy and It's so hard on them too. They want to fix things and they just can't. I'm thankful for my husband. 

 I've recently been informed of others who have similar challenges from similar past sexual abuse. Unfortunately, most of the abusers get away with it while the victim/survivors are left with the repercussions of it (depression, anxiety, isolation, low self worth, blaming, shame, self mutilation, failed relationships, suicides) Survivors - you are not alone. You are loved and you deserve to be happy. Abusers have NO idea the damage they inflict on their victims. It makes me sick.

As always, thanks for reading my story. It's not always an easy read. 


Saturday, January 15, 2022

Betrayal, Potholes, and Prayer

It's a new year and I haven't blogged since October. Happy New Year everyone! Cheers to 2022. 

I didn't blog through the holidays simply because I wanted to keep my focus on positive vibes, family time and the true meaning of Christmas.  I need to blog now. 

In a past blog entry entitled "Truth Is Tricky," I wrote about someone in group who had some strong opinions about some of the things I shared. He reported that the subject matter I shared was too hard for him to hear. He shared and discussed this with our group leader. In one of the groups that followed, we had some conversation amongst the group members on how we would move forward. 

Fast forward a week or two. We are in group, things are going fine and someone told a story. When stories can relate to you, you are supposed to jump in, share as well, and go from there. Well, I did that. I told the story that when I was being sexually abused, my abuser would whisper in my ear, over and over again, "I love you, I love you, I love you". (Talk about a warped sense of the word "love".) I mentioned that while the abuse and whispers were happening, someone else was also in the house just in the next room. My abuser was reckless, too confident, and ballsy. I didn't go in to any detail about the sexual act happening to me or anything like that. 

The gentleman who had trouble with my subject content before, lashed out at me. His behavior became something none of us in group had ever seen before from him. He was rude, harsh, accusatory and mean. He called my story evil, vile, and something he didn't have to listen to. I eventually had to walk out. I stormed out, actually. I was shaking, unnerved, and wanted to punch the wall. You see, I've felt the need to keep my secrets for 30 plus years until I realized it was slowly killing me. Then I just wanted to die because of my secrets. The norm was never to talk about my abuse. I'm trying to learn to speak of the abuse in group therapy where it is supposedly safe, open and guided. 

By this gentleman's actions, I was more or less being told to shut up  (in a very rude way). Silence and secrets are so harmful. I have kept quiet for too long protecting abusers. I'm sure certain people are very thankful for this but it has paid a price on me. Being fussed at and told to stop talking that night crushed me.  Anyway, after about 15 minutes of being outside of the room my therapist encouraged me to return to the group setting. She encouraged me to sit by her and tell this irate group member my feelings. It was rough. I was tired, shocked, and so confused about what we would do next. How would we move forward from here? Although he had complained before about my subject matter, he was a different level of rude that night. 

Over the course of the next few weeks, he eventually decided to leave group. He is no longer a part of our group and I am so glad. I would have never trusted him again. He affected all of the members. It was a terrible, emotional, hurtful, catastrophic event that he caused. Luckily this situation was handled carefully, tactfully and professionally by my therapist for all of the members but it was so challenging. The support that she gave me was monumental in helping me process this. It's actually taken me until now to blog about this subject. I felt betrayed by a so-called trusted group  member. I've been betrayed by a lot of trusted people growing up so being betrayed in therapy hurt. It knocked me down for a while. 

Why do I write about this? Overcoming abuse is so hard. It takes so much energy and it's a battle. Speaking about it is even harder. There will be bumps in the road. Climb out of the potholes that you can sometimes be thrown in. Fight your way out! There will be supportive people and unsupportive people that you encounter on your journey. You WILL be challenged. In the hard times, cling to the positive supportive people, look to travel on the smooth asphalt and keep going. Keep pushing. Keep talking. Keep praying. God sees you and is with you in all of it. Find comfort in knowing that. 

Pray always ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:17,


Sunday, October 10, 2021

Lights, Camera, Action...

Back in June, I was approached by my church about making a video that would eventually be shown during church service and then shared through Social Media outlets.  There was an upcoming sermon series on "This is Me" and how God changes stories. These videos would be played to support that. I was asked to share my story.

A couple of years ago, I made a promise to God that if I were ever asked to share my experience and story, that I would say YES! I owed it to HIM to show how He has made beauty from ashes; how He has taken something like abuse and transformed it into something good...Faith/relationship with HIM. So I said yes.

The truth - I didn't want to do it. I had extreme anxiety about it. Even though I blog, a video was different and exposure would be vast. I lost sleep over it. I lost weight over it and I didn't want to be a hypocrite. I was not in a good head space when I filmed it. I spoke all truth in the video but this journey is hard. There's ups and down's all along the way and I wasn't mentally "up"when it was time to film.  

The video was filmed at my house. There were 3 camera's, lighting, a floating microphone and 3 video guys. I had mentally prepared how I would present my story but when it was time to start, I couldn't think, much less speak with clarity. We all know that sexual abuse is not a topic of conversation that you discuss over lunch. Nor is it easy to speak of it with 3 camera's, lights and a microphone. We powered through and took breaks, drank water, walked around - lol. The media team was patient and great! The overall outcome was exactly what I was hoping for. Somehow, the media team was able to produce a video that I was proud of. My story has been changed by faith, my relationship with him, and my willingness to share my journey through blogging. 

My obedience to Him and my willingness to do this video brought really cool "God moments" in the weeks to follow. Just trust me when I tell you that He spoke to me through people, song, scripture, situations, jewelry, opportunities, and comments. He was confirming, without a doubt, that my story matters and that it should have been recorded to be shared. It was wild! These moments brought me to tears but it proved that obedience to HIM will always be rewarded. 

Fast forward several weeks when it was due to be played at church. Anxiety got the best of me again. I questioned whether or not I would be viewed as "the abused person" after it was shown? So many people would know about me and my abuse. All of my insecurities resurfaced and started playing tricks on me. Let's not forget that the enemy is well aware of situations that glorify God. He was attacking me in full force through my work, family, and marriage that week.

The video played on September 19th. My siblings, parents, husband and boys were present with me that day. When the video started, I lost my breath. I couldn't move, breathe, or say anything. My husband held on to me and held me up. I felt like a piece of glass that was about to break. Emotions hit me like a freight train but I couldn't react because I felt paralyzed. EXPOSURE!

I'm gonna keep it real and say that I am so pleased with how the video turned out. The media team has skills because I didn't feel like I said anything that made sense. I'm gonna also keep it real by saying that this video makes my story look pretty, put together and all wrapped up with a bow. 

My story is ugly. My story has depression. My story has hospitalization. My story has loss of work due to depression and hospitalization. My story has anxiety. My story has suicidal thoughts. My story has group therapy. My story has individual therapy. My story has self harm. My story is full of shame. My story has intimacy issues. My story has trust issues. My story has self esteem and self worth issues. My story has lack of emotion issues. My story has medications. My story has unworthiness. 


My story is a redeeming story. My story taught me intense faith. My story led me to the bible. My story enriched my life with a relationship with God. My story taught me that He is persistent to have a relationship with you. My story is teaching me courage. My story is teaching me strength, power, and resilience. My story is using me to assist and help others. My story is teaching me to feel worthy.

Joshua 1:9 Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid, do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

May you never be defined by what's happened to you. May you learn to be defined by how awesome God thinks you are. 

As always, thanks for the support!!

He changed My Story,



Sunday, September 12, 2021

Truth Is Tricky...


 It's 3:45 am on a Sunday morning and I can't sleep. I'm sitting quietly alone at my computer with my dog laying to my right and my cat to my left. I made a cup of coffee and its nice and warm on my desk. My surroundings are peaceful but my insides are not. 

Life is "funny" sometimes. For about 2 years now, I have been attending group therapy on Tuesday nights. My group is made up of 9 people and a therapist. We are a variety of ages and we all bring different issues to the group. It's like the movies portray it. We sit in a circle and talk about our problems while hoping to get feedback, and guided direction. Group can serve as a sounding board, provide encouragement, and the group can help carry your burdens. From the beginning, I have been anxious every time I step in to group. I know what I'm there for. I'm there to talk about my sexual abuse. For me, it's a slow process. I've spent most of my time in group talking around my subject, discussing how hard it is to talk about any of it; How it's shameful, how I'm fearful, how I'm disgusted, how I still keep some secrets, how I find myself pretending instead of feeling, how challenging it is, how ugly it is and so on and so on. I also have discussed how I faithfully trust the process, trust my therapist, and know that I am making progress, even though it doesn't feel that way sometimes. From the beginning, my gut knew that I needed to get to a place where I could use my voice and discuss the abuse done to me.

I'm not sure why. Some may think that is not necessary. I believe that every person needs to figure out what is best for them. Do what helps you heal the most. I thought - If I can talk about it, I can free myself from the SHAME of it. If I can talk about it, I am STRONG enough to use my voice and overpower it. If I can talk about it, it won't CONTROL me as much. If I can talk about it, I can rid myself of the weight of it. If I can talk about it, I can GET RID OF IT!

I talked about it! 2 weeks ago. My abuse story is many chapters so lets just say I discussed a "chapter" with the group. I got it out of my mouth. Let's keep it real - I didn't make eye contact with anybody (and Lord knows I wanted to crawl in a hole afterwards). I was sweating, wringing my hands, fiddling with my bracelet and shaking my foot all at the same time. Anxiety at it's finest! Details of some of my abuse were discussed - details came out of my mouth. 

For me, it takes a while to process things. I left exhausted but feelings of being proud of myself evolved in me over the next few days. 

The following week, we were hit with Hurricane Ida. Beautiful south Louisiana was devastated by a Category 4 storm causing destruction all throughout it's path. Ida left her mark with homes destroyed or flooded, and trees snapped or uprooted everywhere. My family alone lost 22 trees. Power lines were down everywhere. Generators hummed, gas lines formed, and survival mode kicked in for all. I watched humanity come to life around here. People just helped people. It was a beautiful sight. Amen to that!

Needless to say, Group therapy was cancelled for the week of the Hurricane. We returned last week to pick back up where we left off. 

This is where the kick in the gut comes in or the naivety of the situation grabs hold of me. I learned that my abuse description was disturbing, excruciating to hear, awkward, and caused an uneasiness in the room and with a particular group member. When I was told this, ANGER filled me. Didn't it take me 2+ years  to even get the words out of my mouth? I thought, "I have so much more to say!" "I'm just getting started." "It was excruciating and awkward for me to live through it." Screw all of this. What am I doing here? Then it shifted to SHAME. My story is SO gross that people can't even listen to it without being disturbed. I am disgusting, I am gross. 

This morning I can finally speak for the group members. They are human. What I say IS disturbing. The challenge of what I bring to the group is hard. For the past week, I've felt weird, ALONE and kind of gross. I have been encouraged to continue speaking my truth from my therapist and that we'll "navigate through this". I trust her, believe her, and faithfully believe that God has all of this. Sexual abuse is hard. It's ugly. No one REALLY wants to have a conversation about it. The reality for me is...I need to fight against the fear and talk about it. 

We'll see what this week brings and how we'll work through the challenges of difficult conversations. If I'm honest, I now have some hesitancy (and I didn't need that). Please pray that God will continue to convict me and help me through this process of healing. Abuse can be like a hurricane.  It comes in, leaves a mark, and destroys things. The healing process or rebuilding is slow and ongoing. It takes people, support, encouragement and faith to continue to journey. 

Thanks for the support,


Sunday, June 27, 2021

Scars and Stripes!

 I broke my left arm in the 7th grade. It was UGLY. I fell off of a friend's shoulders and stuck my arm out to catch my fall. When I did, both of the bones in my lower left arm snapped while one of them also punctured through my skin. The bone was sticking out of my arm! For all you nurses out there, it was an open, compound fracture.  Again - UGLY! I was 12 years old and ended up having to have 3 surgeries before it was all healed. I'm happy to report that I have full range of motion in my left arm. Praise the Lord. I was just left with two, 5 inch scars anterior and posterior on my left forearm. All throughout my life, those arm scars have been "conversation pieces". So many people have seen my arm scars and inquired about them. I've told the -7th grade, stuck my arm out to catch my fall, bone out of the skin, both bones broke, 3 surgeries - story, so many times. People are pretty inquisitive when they see visible scars. I am too. That leads me to tell you another story...

I scheduled a professional massage the other day because I found myself very tense and anxious. My head felt like it weighed 100 pounds and my neck and shoulders felt like bricks. Before the massage began, the lady noticed my arm scars and asked if I had any issues with them. I told her that my arm was good and that the scars shouldn't be an issue with the massage at all. 

The massage began. I wanted to say, my noticeable external scars are fine. It's my deep, internal scars about my childhood trauma that are causing me problems. I wanted to say that when I broke my arm at age 12, the abuse has already been going on for years and still was. I wanted to say that harboring secrets your whole life can make you very tense. I wanted to say that dodging perpetrators most days can be so exhausting. I wanted to say that being vulnerable can give you headaches. I wanted to say that not saying what you need to say can give you stomach aches. I wanted to say that the walls that are built for protection make you so exhausted. I wanted to say that the shame that you carry causes muscle aches. I wanted to say that anxiety and fear causes numbness in extremities. I wanted to say that the vivid dreams and nightmares can make you feel tired and disgusting. I wanted to say that setting boundaries for yourself is therapeutic but produces tension and tears. I wanted to say that keeping the enemy and his schemes at a distance is a daily workout. 

External scars are noticed, asked about, and talked about without much hesitation. Internal scars are our secrets, our private stories. We hide them, push them down deep so that they don't cause problems or create conflict in our lives. The thing is, our secrets do make us sick and eventually do come to the surface.

Healing is a process - a long, hard process. There's ups, downs, slides, falls, plummets, slips, crawls, plunges, and growth. It all counts and it all matters. 

Can you imagine if that masseuse heard my thoughts during the massage? 

The difference for me is that Christ DID hear my thoughts and catches me every time I fall.  Unlike my arm, He never breaks, doesn't have a weak spot, and He never fails. He's loving, strong, and ready at any moment. I need His strength, His grace and His kindness everyday!! 

With Grit and Grace ~  God Bless 


This is so hard.


Monday, May 3, 2021

He's got the whole world in His hands...


Do you know where Indonesia is? I didn't. I checked the World Map to find it's exact location. I needed to know it's location in reference to my south Louisiana home. 

I have had an influx of readers reading my blog from that area of the world. What!!??!! As the domain owner of this blog, I can view "stats" that let you know where in the world the readers are reading from and how many people have actually taken the time to read this blog. In my amazement, there have been over 56,500 readers so far since I started writing this blog. Recently, the numbers have risen quickly and it sparked my curiosity. After looking in to it, most of the recent viewers were from Indonesia. Talk about Humble Pie!

SOOO, SHOUT OUT TO MY FRIENDS IN INDONESIA!! I will call you my friends even though we have never met because we apparently share secrets, similar struggles and abuse. 

This influx made me curious so I googled sexual abuse in Indonesia. According to an article by Amanda Siddharta, entitled ~Physical, Sexual violence against children is surging in Indonesia ~ "Victim blaming is still common." "Family or schools prefer not to come forward because they are ashamed." 

I've had a great couple of months with no big setbacks while maintaining the boundaries that I have set for myself as well. With that said, there is not a day that goes by that something doesn't happen to me to remind me of my abuse. I have to fight back blaming myself, feelings of shame, and unworthiness. When I first started writing this blog, I was SHOCKED at how many people reached out to me with similar stories of abuse (and still do). Strong, loving, hard working, successful, professional, big hearted women who have had similar things happen to them. I'm sure each fight off sadness, depression, weakness, shame and low self esteem more often than not. They battle the demons of sexual abuse while having kids, running a big company, raising a family, driving carpool, teaching a class full of kids or whatever it is that they do. It's everywhere and yet we still don't talk about it. I know that my small circle of influence/existence like my work, church, school, and community are filled (sadly) with victims of sexual abuse. This sexual abuse pandemic has been around way before the Covid-19 pandemic and it's mental effects are lifelong. 

I think that's what I realized when I saw the many people from Indonesia reading this. I'm sure they aren't reading this blog for entertainment. They are looking for ways to connect to people with similar struggles. They want to find new ways to cope. They don't want to feel alone. That's what I think anyway. I do the same thing by reading other blogs, listening to pod casts, and watching documentaries that may teach me new things about surviving with the sexual abuse curse.  I'm "lucky" enough to have professional counseling and group therapy available to me as well. Secrets kill, steal, and destroy. I still have them. I'm not sure if I'll ever get rid of them all. Protection of others, doing the right thing, what is the right thing?, lack of forgiveness and biblical truths run in circles in my brain like a hamster on a hamster wheel daily. Ugh.

I'm thankful for the support from people across the globe who think my blog is worth reading. We are united in HOPE. As sad as the numbers can be with victims of sexual abuse, I'll view us as Survivors with Strength.

Last but not least, I'll pray for you! I am available even though I still struggle. I can't find my voice half the time in group therapy, but I pray deeply for HIM to make me feel worthy to speak. I rely on Jesus, family and friends but I fall short often. We are all a work-in-progress and I feel honored to be able to pray for you. 

You are not alone. God bless,



NO, I don't have a cigarette!!!

March 20th, 2023 is the day that I was admitted inpatient last year and that date is fast approaching. I won't lie and say that I haven&...