A nurse practitioner’s reflection on trauma, meaning-making, and healing inside systems that don’t understand us.
Some wounds don’t belong to a single moment in time. They follow us through the chapters of our lives, linking the child we once were with the person we are still becoming. This is a reflection on those chapters, and on what it means to heal out loud inside a world that often gets it wrong.
One morning this week, I woke up noticing a pattern in my life and in the world around me.
And suddenly I could see the same thread running through three versions of myself: the eight-year-old girl, the thirteen-year-old young woman, and the adult woman I am today.
It’s something I have lived through again and again, and I’m currently attempting to make meaning out of it, out loud, here with you.
As someone who moves through life with empathy, emotional awareness, and a genuine desire to care for others, I used to believe most people were operating from that same place. (Ah if only that hope was true!) But I’ve had to learn that not everyone does.
And that mismatch hurts like hell.
The First Time I Learned the World Could Get It Wrong
When I was seven, my parents moved our family so I could attend a better school.
They were trying to do something helpful for me, navigating the disparities in educational quality between cities.
But what followed were years of feeling out of place, uprooted from my neighborhood friendships and placed into a community where I didn’t feel I belonged.
That first year in elementary school in the new city, I told a lie about my dog. I was grieving the anticipated loss of my new pet during the first difficult transition of my young life. He had become my furry companion in the midst of so much change. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a good fit for our family, misbehaving with visitors and making a mess of our home, so my parents decided to find him another home.
As a child, I had no idea how to cope with that loss.
Instead of being helped through it, I was made to stand in front of my entire classroom and publicly confess that I had lied. I felt shamed, exposed, and misunderstood by ALL involved (children and adults).
What I needed from the adults around me was compassion.
What I received instead was punishment.
In that moment, I learned something about how the world can respond to vulnerability.
Looking back now, I feel compassion for my little self, just trying to adapt to enormous changes in her life while being molded to behave according to societal expectations that often prioritize obedience over understanding when a child’s inner world is hurting.
When the World Got it Wrong Again
At thirteen, I experienced a serious violation of my boundaries at school.
When my parents intervened on my behalf, the system finally responded (after dismissing me prior), but my peers responded with additional pain directed toward me. Unfortunatley, being young teens themselves, no one guided them in how to support someone who had spoken up about harm. Instead, they engaged in classic victim blaming (a concept unknown to me at that time, but painfully clear to me now).
I was shunned, blamed, threatened (even YEARS later), and isolated. The message was clear: speaking up carried consequences.
At that age, I didn’t yet have the tools to process what was happening. I only knew it hurt horribly. I felt scared. And I still had to attend school daily (did I really, though?).
I coped the only way I knew how at the time: emotional numbing and powering through the situation by “being strong,” until I finally moved on to an all female educational setting where I thrived.
What I’ve come to understand over time is that it’s not only what happens to you in and of itself (albeit also painful), it’s how people respond to what happens to you that leaves a lasting imprint on one’s identity, psychological development, and sense of emotional safety.
When I look beyond my own life, I see echoes of this pattern in the world around us. There are countless examples of people who speak up about harm only to find themselves questioned, dismissed, or blamed while systems struggle to respond with clarity and compassion. Most recently, the traumatic stories shared by survivors connected to powerful figures—such as those harmed in the Epstein case—have forced society to confront how often systems fail the very people they are meant to protect.
When I hear those stories, the pain feels compounded. It is not just empathy for what others have endured, but a deep recognition of the familiar patterns of dismissal and disbelief that so many survivors describe. Their experiences echo something I recognize in my own life: the disorientation of speaking truth and watching systems struggle to respond with the care and protection that should have been there from the beginning.
Looking back now, I can see how these responses reflect the patriarchal societal norms many of us were raised within. Norms that teach developing souls what is and is not considered acceptable behavior in ways that can harm those who speak up or refuse to conform.
Understanding this pattern helps me place my experiences within a larger context. It reassures me that what I have lived through is not personal failure or misfortune, but part of a broader cultural struggle over whose voices are believed, protected, and valued (hint: it’s not women’s voices).
And that realization brings me back to the question I am still learning to answer for myself:
How do I continue forward with an open heart in a world that does not always honor truth or vulnerability?
For me, the answer begins with healing OUT LOUD.
The Present Moment
Recently, I experienced a situation where narratives about me did not align with my actions or intentions, and it carried significant consequences.
I’m not going to share the details here, because I am still actively healing and some things deserve space, privacy, and care as they are processed.
I am reflecting on a broader pattern in an attempt to make sense of experiences that have repeated across my life, and to figure out how to continue moving forward through them as someone who has been deeply hurt, yet still holds a genuine desire to help others heal from wounds similar to my own.
What I want to share is this: there is a unique kind of pain in being misunderstood that deeply. It is a pain that feels strangely familiar, something the little girl and teenager versions of me recognize all too well.
At this point in my life, as a mother, a midlife menopausal woman, and someone who has spent decades doing the work of understanding herself through therapy and the study of psychology, philosophy, and spirituality, I know EXACTLY who I am. I am no longer easily molded or swayed by flawed societal values.
I see clearly now. I know who I am, what I stand for, and the intentions that guide my life and my work. Yet I have had to face the disorienting reality that others can still question, distort, or dismiss that lived truth.
When You See Clearly, But It Doesn’t Matter
Part of what makes this so disorienting is that I am someone who reads people well. I move through the world with a keen awareness of others’ needs and a desire to tend to their pain: as a nurse, as a mother, and as a compassionate soul. In my professional life, this ability is something I rely on every day to help patients feel seen, understood, and safe.
And yet, I have repeatedly found myself inside situations where that clarity didn’t seem to matter, from childhood to today.
Again and again, I have watched others’ flawed perceptions override my lived reality. I have seen systems respond in ways that fail to acknowdlege the truth of what actually happened, sometimes unintentionally and unfortunately also at times deliberately (for reasons I still struggle to understand).
That kind of disconnect does something profound to a person. It shakes your center. It unsettles the ground that you stand on, uproots the foundation that allows you to move through the world with meaning, trust and purpose.
Trust and Betrayal
There’s another layer to this that’s harder to describe: broken trust.
Throughout my life, I have trusted people. I believed the best in them. I saw the good in them. I assumed that the care and integrity I brought into relationships would be met with the same. And more than once, it wasn’t.
I was harmed by people I trusted; people I never thought would hurt me: teachers, parents, peers, and even people working alongside me toward shared goals of helping others.
In some cases, it was the misuse of information that was never meant to be shared. Pieces of my life, my story, taken out of context, misunderstood, and used in ways that caused personal harm. That kind of betrayal hits hard. And to be honest, right now, it makes trusting anyone feel uncomfortable.
The Edge of Empathy
Believing in people and seeing the best in them is one of my strengths, maybe even my greatest gift, in a world that can feel so lacking in empathy and basic human decency.
But I’m learning that this gift also requires discernment. I can see the good in someone and still remain honest with myself about what their actions reveal.
I will continue to meet people with genuine care. But when someone’s actions no longer align with the goodness I once believed I saw, I will step away with integrity, to protect my purpose and the wholeness of who I am.
Inside the Soul Transformation
I’m writing this from inside the soul transformation.
There are moments when I feel the weight of it in my body: the humiliation, the betrayal, the disorientation that comes from being misunderstood in ways that don’t reflect who I am or the values that guide my life.
Sometimes it’s even more physical than that. It feels like something reached into my gut and scooped out a part of me, like one of those toy-grabbing machines with the metal claw pulling something precious away.
What remains is a hollow space that tangibly aches. A space I’m still learning how to fill with compassion and care instead of shame.
But I have learned that I heal by creating, by writing, by making meaning out of what I’ve lived, and by sharing my story with others so that they may find a glimmer of hope in it too.
Together we are reminded that healing is possible, even within a deeply flawed culture shaped by patriarchal norms that too often fail to protect the vulnerable.
Choosing to Stay
I’ve been through hard things before, and I’ve come back.
Right now, I’m holding onto a small thread of that knowing. And that is enough for now, hour to hour, day to day.
Sometimes I find myself asking questions like: Is this worth it? How can I keep going like this?
I’ve heard other women voice similar thoughts, not about ending the journey altogether, but about that deeper existential sentiment that arises when trying to survive and thrive inside oppressive systems shaped by patriarchal, colonial, and capitalist values.
Yesterday I learned of the passing of Nurse Yalda, a respected expert in aesthetic medicine. Her loss hit me deeply. Mental health struggles touch more people in our profession than we often acknowledge openly. Hearing that news reminded me how important it is to speak honestly about the weight we sometimes carry while still showing up to care for others.
It strengthened something inside me. I will not let the darkness take me out.
This time, I am choosing to heal, not just push through with brute strength the way I have in the past. I am choosing to stay the course, to feel what needs to be felt, to allow the transformation into yet another version of myself.
Right now, that transformation feels messy and uncertain, but somewhere inside this cocoon, something new is forming.
What Healing Out Loud Looks Like for Me
This is what healing out loud looks like for me right now. It’s very real, very physical, very day-to-day lived experience within my body and within the boundaried world that I have found nourishes my soul. I have found small ways to come back into my body and remind myself that I am still here.
Some of my strategy is simple. A hot cup of coffee in the morning. A soft, warm blanket. Coloring with pencils next to a safe friend. Appreciating the beauty of flowers. Listening to the birds coming back as spring returns. Getting a manicure. Cooking (yes I actually love to do this), making my favorite family recipe of meatballs and sauce, sharing it, sitting together and enjoying something I created with people I care about. A warm bowl of soup from I Love Pho or savory dumplings from Dumpling House in Milford, CT. The freshness of cilantro, the deep savory warmth of broth, the heat from jalapeño and sriracha and cayenne, something about these activities brings me back into my joy and pleasure while at the same time I still hold pain and suffering.
My healing is also cultivated in daily life pattern shifts. Indulging in more sleep. Allowing myself to do nothing on the days when the energy and motivation just aren’t there, without forcing, without pushing, becuase I can take all the time I need to heal. There is no rush in transformation and personal growth. Patience, time, grace, and compassion are matriarchal approaches that nurture and heal my wounded soul. There is actually no rush to bounce back as our patriarchal culture leads us to believe (thinking about how society praises and even encourages women to reshape their bodies that just birthed a human into this world back into a pre-pregnancy shape as quickly as possible).
My healing out lous also means taking care of my body in ways I had been putting off, finally making the medical appointments I delayed, choosing to tend to myself instead of my typical behavior of valuing and tending to the care of others before my own (thinking about the oxygen masks we are told to apply during an airplane emergency so we care for ourselves in order to even be able to help others when we are needed.)
Some of my healing strategy is intentional neurological system care.
Sitting in a quiet space with lavender oil and letting my body soften. Taking a warm bath with lavender Epsom salt, or standing in a hot shower and letting the water run over me, imagining it rinsing away some of the heaviness, even if just for a moment. Tracking my mood so I can notice patterns instead of pushing through them. Using daily (or more) affirmation apps to reframe and recenter my attention. And paying attention to my sleep and stress patterns, and responding when I see things slipping.
And some of my healing strategy is allowing myself to be supported by others, both professionals and companions. No longer striving to be strong and make it alone (a coping pattern of mine that is not sustainable and likely reflects the patriarchal value of independence and self sufficiency). It takes a village, not only to raise a child, but also to care for the self. I have been seeking care from others in my community (when I can get the energy to peel myself from my bed).
Getting reflexology at JC Foot Relax in Milford, CT, one full hour in a darkened, peaceful room that feels like a slice of heaven. This place provides a reliable sense of peace and relaxation every time. Blankets, an eye mask, and hands that attend to your whole body, starting with washing your feet (a symbolic, energetic, and hygienic act), then slowly working through each limb and digit until your entire system softens.
Another moment of deep care came yesterday during a massage with Kim Withers at Sacred Ground Massage and Intuitive Counseling in Milford (down the street from Milford Med Spa on Cherry Street). The quiet room, intentional touch, aromatherapy, deep listening, and safe space to simply exist in my body, reminded me that healing isn’t only mental or emotional. The body keeps the score, and sometimes we need someone safe to help release what it has been holding.
Working with my therapist at Valience Counseling, with a professional who understand emotional depth, psychological evidence based care, and the complexity of helping someone with a high-performing life, like me (and maybe you too).
Letting myself receive care in the same space I’ve built for others. This week, that meant getting a facial from Dawn at Milford Med Spa, and allowing myself to be on the receiving end. The warm massage table, the attention to my skin, the warm paraffin soothing my sad, dry, winter hands, the lymphatic massage moving the under eye bags from crying toward my lymph nodes to clear away the swelling (yes, I’m gonna get nerdy and scientific here too because that’s who I truly am).
And connecting with companions…accepting the support of my spouse, my sister, my friends who have been checking in on me daily, and I have been connecting weekly with a spiritual group of midlife women online, realizing I don’t have to hold everything alone (as I did at 8 and at 13). And spending time in nature with a friend and with my son, feeling my feet on the ground, breathing in the fresh air, watching deer, turkeys, and squirrels move through their own rhythms.
And I also want to be honest about something else. This isn’t happening perfectly.
Most mornings I can barely get myself out of bed, rushing into work just minutes before I’m supposed to start.
There are days I drink more wine than I probably should. Days I don’t shower or take care of myself the way I normally would (I admittedly wore the same clothes for three days this week). Times I skip brushing my teeth or the small routines that used to feel automatic (brow and upper lip hair determined to return).
There are moments where I reach for what’s easy, like McDonald’s instead of a nourishing meal. I’m not going to the gym the way I used to. My body is asking me to rest more than to push (no longer the best path for me).
This is a humbling story to share with you, but I believe it’s important to talk about our true lived human experience, not just the one we feel safe posting on social media.
It’s not how I usually show up. I’m not my usual, highly energetic self, the one who springs out of bed with a million ideas, full of vision and passion for my business and my life dedicated to helping others heal and navigate the challenges of life. I want her back.
But right now, this is where I am. And I’m learning to meet myself here without judgment or pressure to change. Because this is what moving through emotional pain looks like for me. And I trust that as I keep taking care of myself in small ways, that I am healing myself. I am resting and transforming into a more integrated and whole soul.
Not long ago, I felt empty. Numb. Like I was just getting through each day. Survival mode. And in some ways, I still am. But now, through these small, intentional acts, I can feel something shifting. Moments of warmth. Moments of connection. Even moments of gratitude. And right now, that is enough to keep going.
The Alchemy of This Moment
Healing out loud is my refusal to let misunderstanding define who I am. I am not just surviving anymore, I am choosing to transform within the wounds.
Right now, it feels like I am inside a cocoon: messy, disoriented, and hidden from the light while something within me reorganizes.
Transformation is rarely beautiful while it’s happening. But I trust that I will emerge from this phase renewed, clearer about who I am, and ready to bring my light back into the world to help guide others navigating its darkness.
Healing for me is learning how to stay anchored in myself, especially when the world gets it wrong.
The eight-year-old girl, the thirteen-year-old young woman, and the Alchemista that I am today, are all still here. And this time, I am choosing to care for all of them.
I am NO LONGER available for spaces or people that require me to shrink to be understood.
A dark knight of the soul who is a very difficult path made for the strongest most beautiful sparks 🔥!!! I see you and I’ve walked this path. I would love it if you can make it to our drum circle April 22 I think this may help alchemize all that you are going through. Please reach out if you need support.
Thank you so much for sharing your real time process with us. I also really appreciate you honoring the stories of your younger selves. I really resonate with the wound of being misunderstood and that’s something that’s been coming up for me again as well. Learning to advocate for my experience and also having the resources to do so is such a journey.