The Unsilenced Pen

09/05/2026

Come here, little one.
I know you don’t understand yet why the world can feel so big and so scary. I know you’re trying so hard to be brave.
But look at me. I’m you, just older.
I know you don’t recognize me yet, but I came back for you. I came back for every night you cried quietly because you were afraid someone would hear. For every time you wondered if what happened was your fault. For every moment you wished someone would walk through the door and say, “I’ve got you now.” I’m here, and I’m not leaving. You don’t have to be brave for me anymore. You don’t have to protect everyone else. You don’t have to understand the things that hurt you.
You don’t have to forgive anyone.
You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.
You can just be a little girl. Take my hand. Feel it? That’s my promise.
Nobody gets to hurt you anymore.
Nobody gets to make you feel small.
And when the world gets loud, I’ll stand between you and every bit of it.
I’ll be your voice when yours is too scared to speak.
I’ll believe you when you’re afraid.
I’ll hold you when you’re tired.
When you wonder why you survived all of this, I’ll remind you that you survived because you were never weak. You were a little girl who kept going. I’m a woman who finally learned she doesn’t have to keep going alone.
So come on, little me, let’s go home.
I’ve got your hand now, and this time, I’m the one protecting you.

09/01/2026

If it bothers you that I keep bringing it up, imagine how much it hurts me that I can't forget it. Imagine being angry at the echo when I am the one who was standing there when the scream happened. Imagine telling me you’re tired of hearing about it when I have spent years being tired of living with it. You get to walk away when the conversation makes you uncomfortable. I don't.
There is no door in my head that I can close. No mute button for the memories. No switch I can flip when I get tired of reliving the things I would give anything to forget. You think I bring it up because I enjoy talking about it? You think I wake up and think,
You know what would make today better? Let me rip open the wound again, touch every scar, revisit the worst moments of my life just to make everyone around me uncomfortable. No. I bring it up because it brings itself up first. In a smell, a sound, a song, a certain time of night, the way someone touches me, the way someone raises their voice, the way a door closes too hard, the way silence suddenly feels too much like before. Just like that, I'm not here anymore. My body may be standing in front of you, but some part of me is somewhere else, trying to convince herself that she survived. Again, and again. So forgive me if my pain doesn't arrive politely. Forgive me if it doesn't know when to shut up.
Forgive me if healing hasn't been convenient enough for the people who were never asked to carry what I carry. That is the part that people don't understand. You hear the story when I tell it. I live it even when I don't. You get uncomfortable for a few minutes.
I get uncomfortable in my own skin.
You get tired of the conversation,
I get tired of the nightmares. You wish I would stop bringing it up, I wish it had never happened. Do you think I don't know that I've said it before? That I don't hear myself repeating the same pieces of the same story? I repeat them because my mind is still trying to understand something my heart was never supposed to survive. I repeat them because sometimes saying it out loud is the only way I know to acknowledge that it still hurts. And maybe that's what bothers you. Not that I keep bringing it up. Maybe what bothers you is that my pain is still here. Maybe you were more comfortable with the version of me who swallowed everything. The one who smiled with blood in her mouth. The girl who says, “I'm fine,” because it is easier than explaining why I’m not. I am tired of wrapping my pain in pretty paper so nobody has to feel uncomfortable. It wasn't comfortable when it happened to me. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't quiet.
It didn't ask permission before it moved into my body and started rearranging everything. I won't apologize because my healing is loud sometimes, or because I need to talk about it more than once. I won't apologize because forgetting isn't something my body hasn’t allowed me to do. If it bothers you that I keep bringing it up, imagine how much it hurts me that I can't put it down.
Imagine being told to move on when your nervous system is still standing in the room where everything changed.
Imagine wanting peace so badly that you would tear open your own chest just to find out where the memories are hiding. Then imagine finding out they aren't hiding anywhere. They are woven into you. In your scars, reactions, the way you love, the way you panic, the way you flinch.
In the things you cannot explain to people who have never had to survive inside their own mind. If you're tired of hearing me talk about it, that's okay. You can leave the conversation, but understand this; I can't leave, I live here in this body. I live with these memories. I live with the consequences of things that ended for everyone else but have never ended for me. You are tired of hearing about something that changed my life. Imagine how tired I am of remembering it.

-The Unsilenced Pen 🖊️

08/31/2026

I was in fourth grade, and I learned that sometimes telling the truth isn't enough when the monster has already convinced everyone that he is a protector.

08/30/2026

This is as poetic as it gets today. 🫰

08/28/2026

An explanation for my absence. 🖤

If you’ve noticed that I’ve been quieter lately, there’s a reason.
I disappeared because life changed in a way I never could have prepared for.
I lost my vision.
And somewhere in the middle of trying to understand what was happening to my body, I was diagnosed with conversion disorder.
There are things I still don’t fully understand. There are days I’m angry. Days I’m scared. Days I grieve the person I was before this happened. And there are days when simply getting through the day takes everything I have.
For someone who has always used writing as a way to process the things that hurt, losing my vision has changed the way I create, too.
The words are still inside me.
The stories are still there.
The pain is still there.
But finding my way back to the page has looked different.
I’ve spent so much time trying to understand what my body is doing, what my mind is carrying, and how years of things I survived could still be living inside my nervous system.
And honestly?
I haven’t always had the strength to put any of it into words.
The Unsilenced Pen was created because I believe silence does not get the final word.
But sometimes, before we can speak again, we have to survive the silence.
So if you’ve been waiting for me, thank you.
If you’ve wondered where I went, this is where I’ve been.
Trying to find my way through the darkness.
Trying to understand my body.
Trying to heal things I thought I had already survived.
Trying to learn who I am in a life I never expected to have.
And slowly, painfully, I’m finding my words again.
I may not be ready to tell every part of the story yet.
But I’m still here.
The pen isn’t gone.
It’s just been quiet.
And when I’m ready…
I’ll let it speak. 🖤

The Unsilenced Pen 🖊️

03/31/2026

Walls are being painted, progress is happening every single day, and I’m juggling it all alongside my full-time job and grooming business. The days have definitely felt longer; but in the best, most rewarding way.
Time is ticking and closing day is coming up super fast! I’m so excited for what’s ahead and I can’t wait to finally be settled in, with my writing room set up and a space of my own to create and share more with you all.
This journey has been a lot, but it’s been so worth it. 🤍

03/21/2026

I don’t fall in love with new things.
New feels empty.
It’s too quiet.
Way too untouched,
like it hasn’t earned the right to be called anything yet.
I want the things that have been through it.
The ones that carry proof of being needed.
We brought home a table that didn’t pretend to be perfect.
You could see it all over it.
Dried up drink spills bleeding into the fabric like ghosts, marker streaks from a child who didn’t care about “ruining” anything, only creating something loud and theirs.
It wasn’t damage, it was evidence.
Evidence of dinners that ran long, of hands too small to hold cups steady.
It was evidence of laughter that didn’t stop in time to save the upholstery.
That table was lived in, loved hard, and used without hesitation.
I felt that the second I saw the picture of it.
I don’t want untouched.
I want something that’s already been chosen,
already been leaned on.
That has already been part of someone else’s chaos and survived it.
So I sat with it today and showed it some love.
Tons of scrubbing, hands aching, pulling old stories up out of the fabric.
Maybe to someone else it looks like I was cleaning, but I wasn’t erasing anything.
I was simply making room.
Room for our mess.
Our spills.
Our kid’s careless hands dragging markers across something they’ll never realize is sacred.
That’s the thing, love doesn’t keep things spotless.
It wears them down, softens them.
It leaves behind fingerprints that on occasion don’t fully come out.
I want that.
I want a house full of things that look like they’ve been through us.
Things that hold happy echoes of who they were before, and who they’re becoming now.
There is something honest about an object that’s been loved twice.
Something almost holy about looking at what someone else once filled and saying, “there’s still life left in you.”
And now, it’s ours to add more life to.

03/18/2026

Full Circle.

I didn’t think life would bring me back here.
Not with keys in my hand and a past still breathing through the walls.
This house raised parts of me that most homes I experienced couldn’t hold.
My nervous system knew it before I had words for it.
This home was safe.
This person was safe.
This felt soft.
This was where as a child, my shoulders could drop without permission.
I sat in that little rocking chair,
the one with the heart carved out of the back of it, like someone knew even then I’d need somewhere to put mine.
She read to me like time wasn’t real,
like the world couldn’t touch us
if we stayed inside those story book pages long enough.
Outside, we fed horses that lived behind her,
watched birds stitch the sky together,
pretended life didn’t unravel people.
But it does.
I watched it take her memory in pieces.
Not all at once, just enough each day to make you question what kind of universe allows forgetting everything to feel like surviving.
She fed a dog that had been gone for years.
Left bowls out like love could outlive death
if you just refused to acknowledge it.
Maybe that’s what I’m doing now, refusing to let this house die.
Because time didn’t just pass through here, it stayed.
It settled into the floors,
clung to the corners,
waited for someone who remembered
what it used to feel like to be held.
So now I’m here.
Hands dirty, back aching,
pouring myself into something
that once poured into me.
An as-is sale, they said.
Like grief.
Like memory.
Like healing.
No guarantees.
No promises.
Just you and whatever’s left
trying to make something whole again.
I walk these rooms with her in my chest, hoping she can feel it.
Every nail, every brushstroke, every pass with the carpet cleaner, every breath is a quiet conversation with her absence.
“I didn’t forget you.”
“I won’t let this fade.”
“I’m building something you’d be proud of.”
Maybe that’s what full circle really is.
Not everything coming back perfect, but coming back yours.
I get to raise my family inside the same walls that many times held me together as a child.
I get to turn survival into something softer.
I get to take what was left behind and call it home.
And somewhere in the creak of the floors,
in the light through the windows,
in the silence that doesn’t feel empty anymore,
I know she’s still here rocking gently, heart carved open, watching me rebuild what never really left.

Thank you all for your patience as I navigate working on a home for my little family to grow in.🫶

03/16/2026

03/16/2026

Amen!

From the book, Getting Through What You're Going Through

Grab the book here: https://amzn.to/46kGVAT