The Long Road to Healing: What Surviving Violence Really Means

 The Long Road to Healing: Turning Pain into Power

Processing pain is never simple.

Experiencing violence leaves deep, often invisible wounds. It changes you—how you see the world, how you relate to others, and how you understand yourself. Walking away from that kind of trauma is an act of immense courage. But what few people talk about is what comes next.

Because leaving is not the end. It’s the beginning of a long and often painful process called healing.

And healing isn’t neat or linear. It’s messy, confusing, and deeply personal. It can take years, sometimes decades, to learn how to breathe freely again, to trust again, and most of all, to live without the constant weight of fear or shame. But here's the truth I’ve come to know: healing involves embracing the pain, not avoiding it.

You can’t outrun it. You can’t bury it forever. To truly heal, you have to face the pain head-on, sit with it, understand it, and begin to reprocess it—so it becomes your strength, not your weakness.

This truth comes not only from my own journey, but from the countless stories I’ve witnessed as a woman, a survivor, a lawyer, and a researcher. In every woman I’ve met who has survived violence, I’ve seen the same pattern: the pain doesn’t disappear, but with time, reflection, and support, it begins to transform.

At first, the pain is raw—it consumes everything. It’s the voice in your head, the ache in your chest, the fear that follows you even into safety. Survivors often live on high alert, cautious and guarded. Trust becomes rare, even with those who mean no harm. And there's always that fear that the past will find its way back in.

But healing asks something radical of us. It wants us to embrace the pain and turn it into radical power. 

It asks us to stop running. To turn toward the pain instead of away from it. To give ourselves permission to feel what we tried so hard to suppress. And when we do that, when we face the anger, grief, confusion, and fear, something begins to shift.

The pain doesn’t vanish. But it begins to lose its grip. It becomes part of your story, not the whole story.

Eventually, what once felt like a wound becomes a scar. A mark of survival. A reminder of strength. And in that transformation, we find power. Pain, when reprocessed with intention and care, can become the very foundation of resilience.

I won't pretend it’s easy. It’s not. Healing is a lifelong process. It’s choosing yourself every day, even when you don’t feel strong. It’s reaching out when you want to shut down. It’s allowing yourself to be seen, to be vulnerable, to be human.

But it’s worth it.

To anyone reading this who is still in that process: You are not alone. Your pain is real, but it does not define you. With time, patience, and the right support, it can become your strength. And in owning your story—every broken, beautiful part of it—you create space for others to do the same.

This is how we heal. This is how we rise.

It’s My Life — And I Know Best How to Live It

 

It’s My Life — And I Know Best How to Live It

There was a time in my life when everything seemed to be falling apart. I was in a dark, difficult place—emotionally, mentally, and even physically. It felt like I was drowning in pain no one could see, and certainly, no one could understand.

During that time, someone suggested I take the Art of Living course. Their intention, I’m sure, was to help. But the moment I heard it, I felt a wave of resistance rise up in me.

How could anyone else possibly tell me how to live my life?

My pain was unique. My circumstances were layered. No one knew the full story—what I had endured, what I was feeling, or what it truly meant to carry the weight I was carrying. No one saw my inner strength, my quiet resilience, or the flickers of hope I still held onto. So how could someone—no matter how well-meaning—offer a one-size-fits-all solution to something so deeply personal?

The truth is, advice often comes easily from the outside. But living through trauma, healing, and growth? That’s an inside job.

I chose not to follow that suggestion. Not out of arrogance, but out of self-trust. I decided to turn inward instead of outward. I wanted to find my own way of healing—one that honored my story, my pace, and my truth.

So I stopped chasing external guidance. I stopped listening to voices that claimed to know what was best for me. And instead, I listened to the quiet, persistent voice inside me—the one that had been drowned out for too long. It wasn’t always easy, and it certainly wasn’t fast. But over time, that choice changed everything.

Today, I can say with confidence that I have not just recovered—I have grown, evolved, and begun to thrive. But what saddens me is how often I see others falling into the same trap: thinking someone else has the answers they’re looking for.

Here’s what I want to say to anyone who might feel lost or broken:
You are not a problem to be fixed by someone else. You are a human being capable of healing, in your own way and on your own terms.

Yes, support is important. Guidance can be helpful. But at the end of the day, only you can walk your path. Only you can truly know what you need. And only you can decide what kind of life you want to live.

So trust yourself.
Honor your journey.
And remember: it’s your life—and you know best how to live it.