Abuse

Hi, my name is Ericka. I'm here because I want to share more about how I've survived trauma and abuse and am trying to find my daily "what's next" in the recovery process. I am looking to find others who have been through their own battles and swapping strategies how they've survived. For me, it was three aviation disaster podcasts during the pandemic that helped to give me enough tools and concepts to hold onto when it felt like I was SwissAir 111 on the inside during my first psychotic break Summer 2025 at age 39 due to the effects of decades of trauma, stress, sleep deprivation, and homelessness. Now that I've come out on the other side and I've been going through the black box of my break, I'm starting to share some of how I made it, and kept my humor and humanity throughout, even if I've had to dig it out under a pile of shame. Not that I'm some guru or anything (and I have to state that clearly, because religious. delusions were a part of my break, lol), just someone who hopes that people will feel less alone and finds some courage to try again with humor and a whole lot of grace. We're not alone in this!

#MightyTogether #Anxiety #EatingDisorder #Trauma

Community.
It’s funny—to step into one
and feel like you should already know how to lead it.
To feel like a mentor by instinct.
A brother, a sister, an auntie.
Someone steady for those searching for family,
for the brokenhearted.

To feel half empty,
spread thin like butter across too much bread,
yet still able to offer more than words—
advice,
a simple meal,
companionship,
love.

To recognize the lost in children and adults alike,
each just trying to isolate a little less,
to be seen without being stared at.
To go from decades of solitude
to dozens of new faces in weeks,
learning how to share pieces of myself
without bleeding out—
pouring carefully, not emptying,
offering warmth without erasure.

To have worn so many masks
that my face forgot its own shape.
To have built personalities like scaffolding—
temporary, necessary, exhausting—
only to realize
that being myself
was the only thing anyone needed.

What I have to give
is love, understanding, patience, kindness.
They cost nothing.
They are renewable.
They fill my cup instead of draining it.

So I ask myself:
Is this people-pleasing or relationship-building?
Is it hypervigilance or empathy,
or simply the recognition
that I carry light
and can set it down beside someone else
without losing my own?

Vulnerability is the birthplace of change.
And I am ready.

Ready to unmask.
To unburden.
To unravel
and stitch myself back together
with intention.

I am learning and unlearning—
again and again—
that I didn’t have to do it alone,
that I don’t have to do it alone now.

To find the missing pieces.
To melt the gold.
To fill the fractures with love,
therapy,
medication,
with men and women
who see the real me
and do not flinch.

Who watch me stumble and fall
and offer hands, not ultimatums.
Kind words, not commands.

To do what my father could not.
To be who he cannot.
To repair what he did not break—
but broke in me.

To unhear and unlearn and unremember
the voice that became my inner weather:

You’re weak.
You hit like a girl.

"This is what I am paying for?"

If five thousand dollars fell from the sky—
would you catch it?
If it saved you?
If it saved your family?

That question became an argument.
An argument sharp enough
for him to regret my education,
to throw it back at me,
to call it worthless—
while I hold a master’s,
while I have built more with less,
gone further on thinner ground.

I have done more with less help.
I have survived without a net.

Emotions are chaotic and messy
when numbness finally cracks.
They arrive loud,
uninvited,
terrifying.

Feel.
Feel.
Feel.
Stay.

Sit with it.
Breathe with it.
Write it down
before it writes you.

Change what you can.
Accept what you cannot.
Learn the difference.
Find the wisdom.
Find the courage.
Find the serenity
that comes from staying.

Face the future—
whether real or imagined,
whether prophecy or trauma
wearing a disguise.

Let the other voice sink back underground—
the one dripping venom,
fed by years of abuse,
by inherited self-loathing
soaked into skin,
into muscle,
into memory.

This body learned survival early.
This brain hardened where it had to.
Scarred—
emotionally, financially, physically—
but still standing.

This mind is done running.
Done pretending
that who I am
is something to escape.

I am a helper.
I help others
and I am learning to help myself.

I do not have to empty my cup
to fill someone else’s.
There is room here—
enough space
to hold others
because I am finally holding myself.

Look for the helpers.
Be a helper.

I am a helper
who asks for help.

And I want to stay angry
because anger feels safer
than grief—
safer than the pain,
the sadness,
the loss
of what cannot be repaired
by the one who broke it.

But I am learning
to brave the depths of my own soul,
to descend instead of recoil,
to name and process the trauma
rather than keep it caged at the surface—

so the pain doesn’t live
one breath away from eruption,
so it doesn’t stay coiled
just beneath my skin,
waiting to spill.

So it can move.
So it can settle.
So it can finally loosen its grip
and make room
for something quieter than survival.

#MentalHealth #CheerMeOn #Grief #Depression #Anxiety #Addiction #MajorDepressiveDisorder #MoodDisorders #SubstanceUseDisorders

Community.
It’s funny—to step into one
and feel like you should already know how to lead it.
To feel like a mentor by instinct.
A brother, a sister, an auntie.
Someone steady for those searching for family,
for the brokenhearted.

To feel half empty,
spread thin like butter across too much bread,
yet still able to offer more than words—
advice,
a simple meal,
companionship,
love.

To recognize the lost in children and adults alike,
each just trying to isolate a little less,
to be seen without being stared at.
To go from decades of solitude
to dozens of new faces in weeks,
learning how to share pieces of myself
without bleeding out—
pouring carefully, not emptying,
offering warmth without erasure.

---

To have worn so many masks
that my face forgot its own shape.
To have built personalities like scaffolding—
temporary, necessary, exhausting—
only to realize
that being myself
was the only thing anyone needed.

What I have to give
is love, understanding, patience, kindness.
They cost nothing.
They are renewable.
They fill my cup instead of draining it.

So I ask myself:
Is this people-pleasing or relationship-building?
Is it hypervigilance or empathy,
or simply the recognition
that I carry light
and can set it down beside someone else
without losing my own?

Vulnerability is the birthplace of change.
And I am ready.

---

Ready to unmask.
To unburden.
To unravel
and stitch myself back together
with intention.

I am learning and unlearning—
again and again—
that I didn’t have to do it alone,
that I don’t have to do it alone now.

To find the missing pieces.
To melt the gold.
To fill the fractures with love,
therapy,
medication,
with men and women
who see the real me
and do not flinch.

Who watch me stumble and fall
and offer hands, not ultimatums.
Kind words, not commands.

---

To do what my father could not.
To be who he cannot.
To repair what he did not break—
but broke in me.

To unhear and unlearn and unremember
the voice that became my inner weather:

You’re weak.
You’re a pussy.
You hit like a girl.
You’re a retard.

This is what I am paying to excavate
while debating ethics and legality.
If five thousand dollars fell from the sky—
would you catch it?
If it saved you?
If it saved your family?

That question became an argument.
An argument sharp enough
for him to regret my education,
to throw it back at me,
to call it worthless—
while I hold a master’s,
while I have built more with less,
gone further on thinner ground.

I have done more with less help.
I have survived without a net.

---

Emotions are chaotic and messy
when numbness finally cracks.
They arrive loud,
uninvited,
terrifying.

Feel.
Feel.
Feel.
Stay.

Sit with it.
Breathe with it.
Write it down
before it writes you.

Change what you can.
Accept what you cannot.
Learn the difference.
Find the wisdom.
Find the courage.
Find the serenity
that comes from staying.

---

Face the future—
whether real or imagined,
whether prophecy or trauma
wearing a disguise.

Let the other voice sink back underground—
the one dripping venom,
fed by years of abuse,
by inherited self-loathing
soaked into skin,
into muscle,
into memory.

This body learned survival early.
This brain hardened where it had to.
Scarred—
emotionally, financially, physically—
but still standing.

This mind is done running.
Done pretending
that who I am
is something to escape.

---

I am a helper.
I help others
and I am learning to help myself.

I do not have to empty my cup
to fill someone else’s.
There is room here—
enough space
to hold others
because I am finally holding myself.

Look for the helpers.
Be a helper.

I am a helper
who asks for help.

And I want to stay angry
because anger feels safer
than grief—
safer than the pain,
the sadness,
the loss
of what cannot be repaired
by the one who broke it.

But I am learning
to brave the depths of my own soul,
to descend instead of recoil,
to name and process the trauma
rather than keep it caged at the surface—

so the pain doesn’t live
one breath away from eruption,
so it doesn’t stay coiled
just beneath my skin,
waiting to spill.

So it can move.
So it can settle.
So it can finally loosen its grip
and make room
for something quieter than survival.

#MentalHealth #Grief #Abuse #PTSD #Depression #Addiction #SubstanceUseDisorders #MajorDepressiveDisorder

I’m really frustrated here right now, I’m going home, and home is very far, as I was in a formation program for software devs.
I couldn’t finish the last exercise of a list, only the first 6 ones were obligatory but I wanted to do all 10 of them, and I got stuck at 10.
It seems like a very little thing to worry about, but it’s not worry, I just have a very rigid brain that tells me I need to finish and do perfect else I’m not good enough.
And I’m already in a position there that I know, even if people say it’s ok, I don’t doubt a single moment that there will be a lot of internalised ableism and a lot of annoyed souls because I’m the first blind person in the program that actually got into it. But then the accessibility is close to none, we’re trying to get by, I’m using the very little bit of sight I have left to try and read with a lot of zoom when I can’t use Orca to read stuff for me. Yes, Orca, Lunix’s discontinued screen reader that gets tweaked from time to time but honestly it’s very much abandoned.
So everyday is me trying to not only do things in a way my brain will see my worth, in the way my brain will accept, because cognitive rigidity is a nightmare and a source of self hate. And then there’s this, being everyday surrounded by sighted people, or some lv1 autistic here and there (at least I think someone might also be on the spectrum). But no one who basically would stop being able to use the computer because is stimming so much that can’t avoid moving their hands and it making the mouse move being impossible to see anything even if you’re sighted. And then go to the restroom because needs to cry and move the whole body until stabilise to be able to do anything.
I wish I could say “try being on my shoes for a single day and feel what I feel” but truth is, I’m very much used to blindness and autism, it’s my everyday life. If a sighted person experiences blindness for a single day only, they would pretty much be even more ableist, because not so much of news but they will not be able to do anything almost. So yeah, to know what means to walk on my shoes, means 23 years and a half dealing with undiagnosed autism, lots of forms of abuse, and progressive vision loss happening abruptly after living a whole life with low vision and only discovering it at 18yo.
Quick editing just to fix an English breaking over there and to clarify that I am a diagnosed autistic, but I was only fully diagnosed after 18yo, so out of these 23 years and a half, 18 would be dealing with undiagnosed autism.
Also, no hate towards lv1 people, it’s just that the difference when it comes to a meltdown or shutdown , and the amount of repetitive movements or sounds, the level difference has a very large and clear line in between.
Also something fun to say: today I confirmed that I really hate umbrellas. I avoided buying one because carrying a cane is already a hand that will be unavailable. Try a cane and an umbrella. It’s indeed a nightmare.

Addiction is one of the most misunderstood illnesses of our time.

People love to debate it—Is it a choice? Is it a weakness? Why can’t they just stop?
But the truth is far less judgmental and far more human:

Addiction is a brain disorder rooted in trauma, emotional pain, and neurochemical imbalance — not a moral failure.

And the most hopeful part?

The brain can be rewired.
Healing is possible.
Recovery is a biological and spiritual transformation.

When Addiction Begins: The Brain Trying to Survive

Most people don’t pick up a substance because life is good.
They pick it up because something inside them hurts.

According to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), 75% of individuals with addiction have experienced significant trauma in their lifetime (SAMHSA, 2023).

Trauma changes the brain.
Addiction changes it again.

What starts as emotional band-aids—relief, escape, numbness—quickly becomes a neurological loop:

1. The dopamine reward system becomes overstimulated.

2. Stress and threat circuits go into overdrive.

3. The prefrontal cortex (the “stop and think” part) weakens.

4. The brain begins to prioritize the substance over everything else, even survival.

This is why “just stop” has never been an effective treatment plan.

Is Addiction a Choice?

The research is clear:

The decision to use may begin as a choice.

Addiction itself is not.

Once the brain is rewired by repeated substance use, the person loses much of their ability to choose.

The National Institute on Drug Abuse describes addiction as a chronic, relapsing brain disorder that alters decision-making, impulse control, and self-regulation (NIDA, 2024).

If someone’s leg was broken, we wouldn’t ask them to run.
If someone’s brain is dysregulated, we shouldn’t expect them to “just quit.”

The Rewiring: How Recovery Actually Happens

Recovery isn’t just sobriety.
It’s the slow, powerful process of teaching the brain a new way to live.

1. Neuroplasticity — the brain’s ability to change

The same pathways that addiction hijacked can be reshaped through new habits, therapy, routine, and connection.

2. Trauma-informed healing

When people heal their trauma, their nervous system calms.
The urge to self-medicate decreases.

Safety replaces survival mode.

3. Community and connection

Humans heal in relationship.
Connection triggers oxytocin and stabilizes the stress response—two things essential for rewiring a recovering brain.

4. Time and consistency

Research shows it can take 12–18 months for dopamine systems to rebalance after chronic substance use (Harvard Health Publishing, 2022).
That doesn’t mean recovery is impossible before that—but it shows why grace is essential.

Healing is not linear.
But every day, every choice, every moment of awareness is building new neural pathways.

A Personal Reflection from the Journey

I used to blame myself for the chaos in my brain.

I thought addiction meant I was weak, broken, or unworthy.
But the more I learned, the more I realized

I wasn’t trying to destroy myself.

I was trying to survive a storm no one else could see.

Recovery for me wasn’t loud or pretty.

It wasn’t a single moment of clarity.

It was small shifts—
choosing stillness over escape,
choosing truth over numbing,
choosing myself when I didn’t even feel worth choosing.

Every day I rise,
I’m rewiring something inside me.

Teaching my brain a new way to breathe.

A new way to feel.
A new way to live.

The Bridge Between Who You Were and Who You’re Becoming

Recovery isn’t a destination.
It’s a rebuilding — neuron by neuron, breath by breath, day by day.

You’re not fighting addiction.
You’re rewiring your life.

You’re shaping a brain that can hold peace.

A heart that can hold joy.
A nervous system that can hold safety.

And no matter how many times you fall, relapse, restart, or rebuild, the truth never changes:

Healing is possible.
Rewiring is real.
And you are not your addiction — you are your recovery.

Bigmommaj
#AddictionRecovery #Addiction

Hi, my name is DazzlingRobin3705. I'm here because I want to connect with others that have been through childhood trauma and abuse within relationships

#MightyTogether #Anxiety #Depression

She's getting ready to go to the office. It's 430pm already. I get so sad when she goes to the office. I just miss her so much when she goes to work.
I think I'll take a shower and a nap.
My dysphoria has been really bad today. I've been wrapped up like a burrito and... Oh. I'm sitting on lux. I was wondering why my butt was hurting.
For anyone who is unfamiliar with gender identity dysphoria... It's a strong negative reaction to having a body noncongruant with what aligns inside my head. I'm a guy. Clearly male. Except for my body. The feeling of being in the wrong body is very painful. Society doesn't see me as a guy. Even my mom still deadnames me and uses feminine pronouns. Except she corrects herself when talking about Pauley. I've told her I need packages addressed to Nox but she refuses. I'm so fed up with her. She has no clue how dangerous publicly deadnaming me is and she still doesn't care. I don't know how to get her to understand. I've been out as transgender to my family since Valentine's Day of 2009. That's 16 years of trying to just exist authentically.
I've been raped, beaten, drugged, and left for dead since coming out of the closet. Yet I persist. I don't know any other way to live.
My right hip hurts too much to handle. I've taken 4 CBD gummies today but they kinda just.. blew me a kiss and ran away. I also ate 2 tramadol around noon I think. My migraine went away thank goodness. My BG is pretty ok for the first time in a week. It's down to 168.
I want a cookie and some coffee.

How To Heal From Childhood Trauma

Healing from childhood abuse is often difficult because it involves a person acknowledging their trauma, seeking help from a mental health professional, practicing self-care like establishing a sleep routine, and eating healthy. Not to mention, building healthy support systems and learning how to use positive coping skills like exercising and practicing mindfulness. Oh and it is also important for a person that is healing from childhood trauma to have an understanding that healing is a non-linear journey with setbacks, which requires immense self-compassion and patience to transform past pain into resilience.