Introduction: Honoring the Realities of Healing

May is Mental Health Awareness Month: a time to honor the truth behind the word “healing.” For many survivors of trauma, healing doesn’t look like what people imagine. It’s not always progress and peace. It doesn’t follow a straight path. It stumbles. It circles back. It rests. It climbs. And still—it moves. 

This piece is a collaboration between survivor Jacque and myself- written together to reflect what healing actually looks like after trauma. Not the polished, picture-perfect version people often expect, but the real, messy, powerful journey that unfolds when someone chooses to survive, again and again. 

About the Healing Journey (Jacque) 

When I think about my healing journey, the word that comes to mind is grateful. Not because it’s been easy, but because I’m proud of myself. I am proud I chose to ask for help, even when it scared me. That first step was terrifying, but I took it anyway. 

When I picture my healing journey, I see a butterfly. I started off in caterpillar mode—rough, hidden, unsure of myself. I didn’t know what I would become. But now, I’ve blossomed into a beautiful butterfly. I still have days where I feel like I’m crawling again, but I know I’ve grown. 

Healing Isn’t a Race (Jacque) 

There was a time I believed I should already be over it. Since my abuse happened so long ago, I often think that I should be completely healed and further in my healing journey. But my therapist has helped me realize that it is not a race, and my healing journey does not have a timer on it. That reminder changed everything. 

For so long, I felt like I was failing at healing. Like there was a deadline I had missed. I’d catch myself thinking things like, “Why am I still struggling?” or “Other people seem to move on so much faster, what’s wrong with me?” But the truth is, there is no finish line. There is no universal timeline. 

Do you ever feel like people expect you to be “over it”? How do you handle those moments?
Yes, I have had my own family tell me that this trauma should not affect me 20 years later. But I remind them: I was nine years old when the abuse began. I didn’t have the tools, the words, or the support to process it then. I’m only now learning how to heal, and that’s valid. When those kinds of comments come up, I try to use them as an opportunity to educate. I remind people that everyone’s healing journey is different. No one gets to decide how long someone should hurt, or when they should be “over it.” 

Why do we give ourselves a timeline? (Sarah) 

This feeling is incredibly common. Many survivors believe that because time has passed, their pain should have passed too. But trauma doesn’t move on just because the calendar does. 

Healing isn’t a race. There’s no gold medal for getting through it faster. In fact, rushing can lead to avoidance, disconnection, or even re-traumatization. True healing happens slowly, at the pace your nervous system, your memories, and your sense of safety allow. 

Some days may feel like huge steps forward. Others may feel like you’ve taken five steps back. Both are part of the journey. And neither mean that you’re doing it wrong. 

The Ups and Downs of Healing (Jacque) 

I’ve had moments where I felt like I was making real progress. I was sleeping better. I was smiling more. And then, out of nowhere, the nightmares would come back. The memories. The shame. I’d shut down. I’d lash out. I’d go into survival mode like I used to. And every time, I’d think, “Why am I back here again?” 

But I’ve learned to respond differently now. I breathe. I pray. I put on gospel music. I take a walk. I remind myself: I am safe now. That phrase has become my anchor. 

I remember when the hard days meant putting my phone on Do Not Disturb, isolating myself, and spiraling into negative thoughts until I gave myself a migraine. I’d lie there with it all bottled up inside. Now, I picture the beach, my safe place. I talk to my therapist. I check in with my pastor. I lean on my support group sisters. 

I don’t carry it all alone anymore. And that, more than anything, is what healing has taught me: I don’t have to do this by myself.
 

Asking for Help: A Turning Point (Jacque) 

I first asked for help when I was a child, but like so many other African American survivors, I was silenced. I told my mother what had happened, and she didn’t believe me. Later, in grade school, I wrote a school assignment called The Man Sneaking Into My Bedroom, describing the worst thing I had ever experienced. My teacher read it and was brought to tears. He did what he was supposed to and reported it to the school guidance counselor and the resource officer. A caseworker from foster care came to the school and pulled me out of class. My mother was there too. I remember her looking at them and saying I had made the whole thing up, that I was delusional.  

And just like that, my truth was dismissed. 

I carried that silence with me for years. I repressed the memory completely until a few years ago, when the nightmares came back. It was like my body and mind were trying to force me to remember what I had tried so hard to forget. That’s when I realized I had never really dealt with it, and I needed help. Asking for help as an adult was still incredibly hard. I felt ashamed, unsure, and honestly terrified. But I had reached a point where I felt completely lost. The abuse, the trauma, the secrets, they were eating me alive. I knew that if I didn’t get help, I wasn’t going to make it. Reaching out wasn’t easy, but it saved me. 

Why Is Asking for Help So Hard? (Sarah) 

Asking for help can feel like one of the hardest things to do, especially for people who have experienced trauma. And there are good reasons for that. 

For many survivors, silence was once a form of protection. Staying quiet may have been the only way to stay safe, be believed, or avoid further harm. Over time, this silence can become internalized, making vulnerability feel dangerous, even when it’s not anymore. 

There’s also fear: fear of not being believed, fear of being judged, fear of being a burden, and fear of losing control by letting someone in. And beneath that, there’s often shame. Trauma often tells people, “this was your fault.” Or “you should be over it by now.” These messages can be reinforced by family, culture, or society, and they make it even harder to reach out. Sometimes, asking for help means admitting something is real. And for people who’ve spent years trying to function, numb, or forget, that admission can feel overwhelming. 

But here’s the truth:
Survivors are not weak for needing support. They are incredibly strong for surviving in the first place. And choosing to ask for help, despite all those fears, is a powerful, courageous act.  

Healing doesn’t require perfection. It just asks us to begin.  

Even quietly. Even scared. Even one small step at a time. 

Growth and Resilience (Jacque) 

What does strength look like to you?
BEING COURAGEOUS. Not backing down to people, thoughts, or feelings. And being vocal, because I will no longer be silenced. 

My friends have been such a great help by making me laugh. changing the subject and always doing mental health checks. Just knowing they’re there helps me feel less alone. Communities like Mosaic Georgia and Tamar Support Group have made a big difference. Being in spaces where people truly understand what it means to survive has helped me feel seen and supported. I also tap into my creative side and do art therapy and journal weekly. 

Mental Health & Unlearning Messages (Jacque) 

Sometimes I feel like I’ve done so much healing work, then something triggers me and I feel like I’m right back where I started. It’s frustrating. 

But I remind myself: You are doing better.
We’re just often too hard on ourselves to see it. Healing doesn’t mean never having bad days. It means learning how to meet those days differently. I don’t spiral like I used to. And even when I struggle, I recover faster. That’s growth! 

Stop Comparing. Start Allowing. (Sarah) 

One of the most common things I hear from survivors is this:
“Other people had it worse. So why do I feel like this?” Let me be clear:
 

There is no healing hierarchy.  

Pain is pain. Trauma is trauma. Your experience is valid, even if someone else’s looks different. 

Comparison only keeps us quiet. It keeps us doubting ourselves, downplaying our emotions, or trying to “earn” the right to heal. But healing begins when we stop asking, “Is my pain bad enough?” and instead start asking, “What do I need right now?” 

You don’t have to justify your feelings. You don’t have to measure your pain against anyone else’s. You’re not being dramatic. You’re not too sensitive. You’re having a completely human response to harm.
 

How to Support a Survivor: What Survivors Need Most (Sarah) 

Healing is powerful, but even more so when survivors are supported by the people around them. If you are a family member, partner, or friend to someone healing from trauma, your presence matters. 

Here’s how to help: 

• Believe them. Don’t question the timeline. Don’t ask “why now?” 

• Avoid giving advice. Just listen. Offer validation like, “That sounds so hard. I’m here.” 

• Never rush their healing. There’s no timeline for trauma recovery. 

• Check in consistently. Don’t only show up when they “seem okay.” 

• Respect their boundaries. Empowerment comes from making their own choices.  

Above all: Survivors need to know they are not a burden. Being supported, without conditions, shame, or pressure, is often what makes healing possible. 

Looking Ahead 

A message to survivors from Jacque:  

Take your time and find what works best for you, because healing journeys are like snowflakes: no two look the same. What helps someone else may not be what helps you, and that’s okay. Look for community, because I promise you, you are not alone. Give yourself grace, especially on the hard days. I’m still learning not to be so hard on myself, because none of this is our fault. And try not to overthink everything, it will only lead to breaking your own heart. 

A Final Word from Sarah 

As we honor Mental Health Awareness Month, I want to thank Jacque for her courage in sharing her story. Not just for herself, but for every survivor who’s still finding their voice. Her words remind us that healing doesn’t have to be perfect to be real. That setbacks don’t erase progress. And that even in the hardest moments, we are never truly alone. 

To every survivor reading this: your story matters. Your healing matters. Whether you’re just beginning or years into your journey, you are worthy of support, care, and compassion. 

This month, and every month, we see you. We believe you. And we are walking beside you. 

You are not alone.