Sometimes, life breaks us in ways we never see coming. It doesn’t ask permission, and it doesn’t warn us. One day, you’re living your life, doing your best, and the next, it feels like the floor disappears beneath your feet. That’s what trauma does. It shows up without a plan, and it leaves you picking up the pieces of something that may never feel whole again.

For a long time, I believed I was broken beyond repair. The pain I carried wasn’t always visible, but it was always there. I walked through life with a smile on my face, trying to be “enough” for everyone. Enough as a daughter. Enough as a mom. Enough as a woman. But deep down, I felt like I wasn’t enough for anyone—including myself.

When you’ve been abandoned or let down by the people who were supposed to love and protect you, it changes you. It rewires the way you think and feel. You start to believe that love is something you must earn. That safety is a myth. That being chosen is for other people, not you. I believed those things for far too long.

But here’s the truth: trauma doesn’t get to decide your worth.

It took years for me to understand that. Years of hurting, healing, and learning how to face my past instead of running from it. I had to go back to those painful places in my memory. I had to remember the moments I was left, the times I was ignored, and the seasons where I felt completely alone, even when I was surrounded by people.

I had to ask hard questions. Why did I chase people who didn’t love me back? Why did I keep repeating the same patterns? Why was I so scared of being loved the right way?

Slowly, through therapy, writing, and deep reflection, I began to see the patterns. I realized I had been building my identity on the broken promises of others. I gave power to the people who hurt me, and I carried guilt that was never mine to hold. But even in the middle of all that pain, I found something I didn’t expect: strength.

There is something powerful about surviving trauma. It doesn’t mean the pain goes away. It doesn’t mean the past is erased. But it means you made it. You’re still here. And that matters.

For me, writing this book became part of my healing. I wanted to share my story—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s real. I wanted people to know they’re not alone in their hurt. That it’s okay to struggle, it’s okay to feel broken. But most of all, it’s okay to rise again.

Your trauma does not define you. But it does shape you. And in that shaping, there is worth.

There’s worth in the fight to understand yourself. Worth in the tears you’ve cried and the nights you’ve felt completely alone. Worth in every breath you’ve taken when it felt like breathing was too hard. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. You just have to keep going.

If you take anything away from this, I hope it’s this: You are not your trauma. You are not the choices other people made. You are not too broken to heal. Your story matters. And you are worth every ounce of love, grace, and forgiveness.

Even in the wreckage, you can find yourself. And that self? She’s strong, she’s brave, and she is worthy. Always.