True Stories & more | Works by Design

“I now see how owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do.”

— Brené Brown

To be vulnerable is like walking on a tightrope across the Grand Canyon. Exciting, terrifying, and potentially disastrous.

Telling my story is scary. I am choosing to be vulnerable and share my life with you, a complete stranger. Why would I do such a crazy thing, when I could happily continue living a quiet life?

I am an introvert. While I enjoy socializing, I have limits. I am a person with complex PTSD, a diagnosis I fought for years because it seems we label everything these days and I didn’t want to be limited or disparaged. I was stronger than that, I could ignore my past as if it never happened. I didn’t need help.

However, denying my history only made me isolated.

Trusting you with my story, opening my heart to be authentic with my experiences, is contrary to everything my mind is saying. But how do we heal, grow, and help others in this difficult world? By being stoic and self-contained? By pretending we don’t struggle at times?

After all, what is the point of my suffering if not to be able to have compassion for yours?

“What a wonderful God we have—he is the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the source of every mercy, and the one who so wonderfully comforts and strengthens us in our hardships and trials. And why does he do this? So that when others are troubled, needing our sympathy and encouragement, we can pass on to them this same help and comfort God has given us.” 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 (NIV)

I often say I survived because of God, dogs, and books, and here's why.

God give me a foundation, a steadfast rock that never changed throughout my chaotic and confusing childhood. He was an unwavering touchstone throughout my adulthood and continues to be my stronghold today.

Dogs are a comfort. Offering unconditional love, I believe pets are God’s gift to us in a world where we cannot hug Him personally. It may sound stupid (feeling vulnerable again, ha, ha) but having my dogs by my side throughout some difficult times gave me tangible comfort when I needed it most.

Books. Fiction took me away from my reality, introduced me to new people and places, helped me to dream about possibilities. Nonfiction gave me tools to cope, clarity about what was happening, the realization that it was not me, and that others were dealing with similar issues. Unfortunately, growing up, there was precious few books about narcissistic mothers and mental illness but later in my life I found people began talking about it.

Talking about it. Sharing our struggles, our defeats and our victories, these are what we’re made for. Not to wallow in our troubles, but to learn, grow, and move on to make a positive difference.

I write to shine light in the corners, to make the shadows disappear, and to see clearly.

“As we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence actually liberates others.”
— Marianne Williamson

It's a formidable step, but a powerful one. I hope you join me.