Little Girl Found, Kicking & Screaming

And once she learned to kick and scream, the monsters quieted down.

When she knew she was safe to stop kicking and screaming, the monsters left


She was left with some permanent scars that she saw as rich and beautiful, because they were perfect to her and not because they had to be, but because they just were.

The little girl healed and the woman flourished.

The little girl and the woman agreed to coexist as the caretakers of each other and providers of the ointment that would protect and honor her scars


Last night, I took a nasty spill on the cement. I am definitely injured, but imagine it looked hilarious, complete with pretend cartoon sound effects. Three wonderful friends, two across the street, and one nearby, helped me get up. I was in enough pain to not try to save face. I was bleeding and made the joke, “Can you imagine what this would look like if I’d been drinking?” We all laughed together.

They asked if I was hurt and I told them I was. I stopped trying to hide facts a long time ago. On this street, I found myself hurt, a little sad, not remotely embarrassed and very grateful.

So grateful.

I don’t really carry the burden of holding major secrets anymore. I do have stuff I don’t discuss very often, but sometimes, I believe it’s necessary to share difficult stories with select individuals –

I may share trauma with someone who I surmise may be helped by hearing horrific stories while witnessing obvious forward movement that resulted in a thriving, healthy woman. The listener of my stories can put together that the heinous tales and the thriving woman telling the horrors, all belong to one individual and now, with the honorable recipient of the stories.

The listener may not believe they can heal, let alone thrive, but they might receive a glimmer of hope. When I select the keepers of my non-secrets, I always, without exception, have a suggested action step for the listener – something that will help them heal.

I am very clear that I am not a trauma therapist or a professional PTSD master. I am “a lifer,” with phenomenal on-the-job experience. I am also a woman who has to take care of last night’s injury so I can heal and get brand new scars.

One reason that I believe I still walk the Earth is to demonstrate that any human being can move through trauma and not only be okay, but evolve into an incredibly interesting human being.

I consider this to be an honor, because it is.

As she hid among the dolls and behind her toy chest, she wondered if she was the devil in human form.

She refused to believe there was a G-d as she quietly prayed to the G-d she didn’t believe in.

There was no foundation and no trust. Her thin but muscular frame was atrophied before it could start to grow.

She spoke through dance.

Starved for anything good, she came out from behind her toy chest in her closet. As she limped and danced into the light, she looked up and realized, she’d always been talking to G-d and that for all of it, there was a reason.

She’d been built strong enough for all of it.

I am here to honor YOUR scars and YOUR voice. Your beautiful, rich and permanent scars deserve your voice and your love.

I love you and I love me too, especially my scars and my voice and my ears and my eyes and my empathy and my service to others (YOU), and my scars, old, new and yet to form.


P.S. #metoo #youtoo #wakeup #heal #thrive


Author: PKW

Writer, Speaker, Facilitator, Trainer, Fundraiser, Strategist, Listener, and Lover of Humans. My love for humans and relationship building are a part of every single thing I do, except for maybe using the bathroom.

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