Nobody talks about the middle.
We talk about the trauma.
We talk about the healing.
But the middle?
That strange in-between stage where you’re technically okay but emotionally rewiring your entire identity?
That’s where I lived for years.
After my assault, I didn’t stop living.
I just stopped inhabiting my life.
I dated — but performed.
I socialized — but monitored.
I smiled — but negotiated safety constantly.
People praised how “strong” I was.
Strength can be a disguise for survival mode.
The biggest lie trauma told me was:
My life would always be a “before and after” story.
I thought joy would feel irresponsible.
Trust would be naive.
Desire would be dangerous.
So I built a life made only of safe choices.
And safe choices slowly erased me.
Healing didn’t come from forgetting.
It came from re-introducing myself to myself.
The first time I set a boundary and someone respected it — I cried in my car.
The first time I enjoyed physical affection without panic — I felt shocked.
The first time I laughed freely — I realized I had been rationing happiness.
Recovery wasn’t dramatic.
It was ordinary moments becoming safe again.
Today my story includes friendships, love, career goals, and plans for the future.
Not because the past disappeared —
because it stopped being the only chapter.
Why I’m sharing this
Survivors don’t just need awareness.
We need community spaces that support rebuilding — relationships, confidence, identity.
That’s why I’m volunteering with the Leila Grace Foundation podcast initiative.
Because hearing how others rebuilt their lives helped me believe I could rebuild mine.
🎙️ Want to be a podcast guest?
We’re inviting survivors, advocates, partners, and supporters to share conversations about healing, relationships, and reclaiming life.
You don’t have to teach.
Just talk honestly.
Apply to join an upcoming episode and help someone see a future they can’t yet imagine.