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Sometimes I sit with a heavy thought, the kind that doesn’t rush in loudly, but settles quietly in mind, especially in quiet moments. I think about how different life could have been if I had been given the chance to simply live… instead of constantly learning how to survive. There’s a grief that comes with that realization. A deep, complicated grief for the version of me that never got to exist. For the childhood that was shaped more by fear than freedom. For the years spent

I don’t always remember the date right away, but my body does. There are certain dates my body remembers before I do. I don’t always wake up and think, “This is that day." Sometimes it’s quieter than that. Heavier. A tension I can’t explain. A weight or profound sadness that settles in before I’ve even had time to name it. And then I realize. This week marks the anniversary of the last time I was trafficked. There’s no ceremony for days like this. No clear script fo

It's okay to allow yourself to feel. Mother’s Day is everywhere—flowers, cards, brunches, smiling photos, and sentimental tributes...

The passing of Virginia Giuffre is a profound loss, deeply felt by many survivors of human trafficking. Her death, whether a suicide or not, is tragic. This loss highlights the ongoing, complex journey of healing from trauma, which is lifelong and often messy. It's crucial to remember that taking time for self-care is not a sign of weakness but a necessity.