#overcomingtrauma

"My Journey Through the Cross" by Ashley D. Wille is a powerful testament to overcoming trauma through God’s love. Through raw honesty and faith, Ashley shares her story of pain, healing, and transformation, inspiring readers to find hope and strength in God’s grace. This heartfelt journey offers encouragement to anyone seeking peace beyond their struggles.

The first photo after a year and seven months in prison feels different. The world after a year and seven months in prison feels different. Even though I kept up with the outside world through TV and newspapers, the world outside isn’t the same. After a year and seven months, when I was released from prison, I didn’t know who had arrived, who had left. I didn’t know what was new, what was old, what was trending. Honestly, I still don’t know, even after eight months of freedom.

It feels like I was frozen in time while the whole world kept turning. People, of course, continued with their lives, while I was stuck there, in prison. The feeling of being smaller, of being lesser than everyone else, gnawed at me and left deep scars until I had to fight and confront myself. I had to rethink everything I knew about prison. Not everyone sees it the same way, but I needed to find some kind of beauty in that experience, because I lived it so intensely that it had to mean something.

In the early days, I thought I was going to lose my mind, that I was going to lose everything. So, I had to start working on myself. I began developing myself personally. I read every book on personal growth I could find. I took every online course I could. I re-learned high school material. I understood that the most important thing about being in prison was what I was going to do with it, and I decided that I was going to make the best of it.

I did yoga naked in a cell. I danced naked in a cell. I made friends, told jokes until late at night, laughed until my stomach hurt. I cried many times. I slept hungry, woke up thirsty. My privacy was ripped away, exposed, shattered. I was diminished, dehumanized. I fought for rights and realized, most of the time, it wasn’t worth it. I translated documents in Portuguese, English, Spanish, and French. I worked on immigration cases. I wrote every day. I taught classes. I exercised. I did and lived the best I could in that situation.

Gianna Gragnani: My Journey Through Loss, 7 Baptisms, and Finding Purpose

If this message resonates with something unspoken inside you, don’t scroll away. Take a deep breath, honor your journey — and if you're ready, let go with grace. Follow for more quiet strength and soulful healing.

Nobody Gets Through Childhood Untouched

Nobody emerges from their childhood entirely unharmed. I know that's sounding negative, but it's real. The notion that there's someone somewhere who got to grow up without error, with ideal attentive parents, no disappointments, and no hurtful memories, is optimistic thinking at best. True, not all hurt is alike. Some people get outright abuse, while others get slow-burning neglect or expectations that no one can meet. The toxicity exists on a continuum, and it doesn't mean their pain isn't valid just because someone's wounds don't resemble yours.

When Toxic Becomes Normal

I grew up my whole life thinking that the craziness I was surrounded by was just the way life was. I never questioned the rules, the unwritten expectations, the controlling behavior, or the flippant disrespect of boundaries. That was all I knew. When you are raised within dysfunction, it doesn't feel like dysfunction, it feels like reality. You get used to it, you learn to decipher moods like reading weather, and you become competent at shrinking yourself, quieting yourself, or disappearing. It wasn't until much later, decades later, that it even occurred to me that something about my childhood may not have been alright.

Healing Involves Conceding Something Was Wrong

Here's one of the largest reasons some individuals never recover: in order to recover, you must first acknowledge you were wounded. And that's frightening. It involves the realization that the people you loved, your parents, your caregivers, your shields, may have let you down in ways you didn't deserve. It's simpler, sometimes, to tell yourself it wasn't that terrible, to downplay it, or to compare it to someone else's more outward injuries. The thing is, healing requires honesty about things you've spent your entire life hiding from.

The Fear of Who you’ll be Without the Pain

One of the reasons that people do not want to heal is fear about who they'll be without their trauma. In an odd way, pain can be something that's a part of your identity. You come to think that your pointy edges, your hard heart, your worry or your perfectionism are merely who you are. But what if they're not? What if they're merely side effects of staying alive? It's horrifying to consider a version of you that isn't burdened with those things. For some, remaining within the pain is safer than venturing into the uncertain.

It Feels Like Betrayal

This is one I don't believe we discuss nearly enough: healing can be a form of betrayal. Particularly when the individuals who harmed you remain present, still in denial, or still in refusal to accept it. In order to heal is to acknowledge that they were in the wrong. It's to mourn the dynamics of your family that you had fabricated. And that sorrow is dense. Some individuals would prefer to bear the pain quietly than jeopardize what little peace they have been able to attain with those relationships.

The Work is Uncomfortable

Finally, and perhaps most clearly, healing is difficult. It is uncomfortable, messy, and seldom occurs in a linear fashion. It requires you to stay present with feelings you have worked years to avoid. It takes facing memories, taking down entrenched lies, and even leaving people or habits you believed you couldn't do without. It's no wonder so many just opt out. Not because they're weak, but because they're exhausted. Because surviving, even in dysfunction, is a habit that's difficult to put down.

In The End, It's a Choice