From the Bathroom Floor to His Grace (Copy)
I realized that I don't need a 'Huge God' to fix my life from a distance. I need a Father who is willing to get His hands dirty in the mess of my recovery. He is powerful enough to move mountains, but He is Father enough to hold my hand while I climb them. When I look in the mirror now, I don't see a 'broken patient' or a 'victim of trauma.' I see a daughter who is deeply, fiercely loved by the One who created the stars—and yet, He knows my name
Your DNA Records
"In New Mexico, the air wasn't safe. In Tennessee, my gut was in a state of battle. I used to think my body was failing me, but now I see the design. We’re talking about epigenetic tags, the vagus nerve, and the Ruach—the breath of God that sustains us even when our lungs want to fail. This is the biology of survival."
The Paperwork of Silencing
My diagnosis of PTSD became my caretaker’s greatest shield, used to dismiss my reports of pain as mere "flashbacks" while I performed as a "perfect" Honor Roll student to survive. From a 2007 report of a large bruise on my side to a 2013 hospital meeting where a suicide attempt was met with only "10 minutes" of a caretaker’s time, these records document a pattern of abuse and clinical indifference.