I Have Arrived. I Am Here to Dance.

It feels strange to even write those words!

For years, “arrival” felt like a destination reserved for others—those untouched by trauma, those who hadn’t spent their lives unraveling and rebuilding, again and again. I used to wonder if peace was something I’d ever truly know, or if it was just a distant dream whispered by people who hadn’t lived through the kind of storms I had.

But here I am.

And all I feel is peace.

Not perfection. Not erasure of pain. Just peace. A quiet, steady knowing that the chaos inside me no longer rules me. These days, you’ll often catch me dancing—barefoot in the living room, twirling in the kitchen with a spoon as my microphone. My daughter beams of excitement and grabs a spatula. She sees it too: I am lighter now.

The Journey Wasn’t Simple

Fifteen years of talk therapy taught me how to untangle the knots in my mind. Session after session, I searched for meaning, for clarity, for the “why” behind the shame and despair my heart carried. Then came eight more years of trauma therapy—gut-wrenching, exhausting work that cracked me open in ways I didn’t always want. But I showed up. Again, and again. I faced truths I had buried so deep I forgot they even existed. There was so much pain suppressed that erupted during the trauma work where I questioned my sanity. I pushed so much pain away and when this surfaced, that is when I met myself with such deep compassion and acceptance. I learned to love my dark parts. I thanked those parts that kept me alive and fought hard to keep going when I wanted to collapse as I was internally screaming underwater.

The past five years brought a deeper realization: trauma doesn’t just live in the mind—it embeds itself in the body. My shoulders ached and hovered over my broken heart, effecting my posture from carrying weight that wasn’t mine. My chest felt like it had been holding its breath for decades. My stomach and womb clenched with secrets I didn’t want to keep. Our bodies carry memory, and trauma effects our posture, and it will naturally form a protection over our heart and womb when we carry so much pain. Through spiritual rituals, medical care, and intentional body work, I spent the last five years releasing decades of trauma that was lodged deep inside.

It’s true—our issues live in our tissues. Our body keeps the score.

And for me, that meant decades of fatigue, anger, and heaviness that made even the simplest tasks feel like battles. My heart was betrayed and secretly wept for love.

Sitting With Grief

For two years, I sat with my grief. I didn’t run from it. I didn’t stuff it down. I let it wash over me, break me, and soften me. Grief taught me to surrender, resulting in deep love for myself.  It forced me to face what I had resisted for so long: the truth doesn’t go away just because you ignore it. Truly feeling your pain heals your pain. Acknowledging how you feel and accepting what happened is the secret to releasing.

Last year, I made one of the bravest choices of my life—I entered a treatment facility for my C-PTSD. It was there that I discovered the power of radical acceptance. Not to condone what happened. Not to erase my anger or dismiss my pain. But to honor my story, forgive where I could, and release the stranglehold it had over me.

A Chapter I Didn’t Expect

And then came something I never saw coming, working with a male therapist.

For the first time, I allowed myself to sit across from a man in therapy. That decision was terrifying. Men had been the source of so much of my deepest pain. There was a time when my body would physically tremble at the sight of a man, my muscles remembering what my mind tried so hard to forget.

But this therapist was different. Calm. Steady. Validating. He didn’t just give me tools—he gave me proof that safety with men could exist. For a woman who once flinched at the sound of a deep voice, dodged objects flying in the air and survived physical abuse, that was nothing short of a miracle. He was so healing to me, and I was so proud of myself for walking in my discernment to know exactly what I needed and the courage to step into something I needed to face.

What I Know Now

I am not responsible for what happened to me.

But it is my sacred responsibility to grow, to heal, and to live a life aligned with the grace God always intended for me.

Because if you don’t face what hurts, it will quietly suffocate you. Literally, drown you in shame and anger.

The Power of Community

For too many years, I shut people out. Ashamed of my pain. Programmed to carry it all alone. But in my experience, healing could not fully happen in isolation. We need people who love us through every version of ourselves—through the tears, rage, silence, and breakthroughs. Sometimes God will send strangers to become the soul family you needed. Our community can become our flashlight when it feels so dark. Community can become the warm meals shared around a table without any yelling or cold silence. Community can become the hand that holds you while your anxiety is spiraling without any judgement. Letting others love us when we don’t love ourselves can be trembling and foreign, but it is so healing. I promise. The right souls will be sent to you for healing, not judgment. Everyone we encounter in life has a special purpose, even if they don't stay. Honor what they showed you. Let others love you, it is so healing, and their love sparks your soul in ways you would never expect. Love grounds you and creates such a light in your heart.

Take space when you need it, yes absolutely! But don’t stay away too long. Putting up your walls for too long will cause distance and it will make your soul ache for human touch. Our souls are designed for love and human connection.

Love is medicine.

And today, that medicine has brought me here. To this moment. To this peace.

Why I Dance

I don’t dance to distract myself from the pain. I don’t dance to escape the weight of my past.

I dance because joy feels safe now.

My body, once a battleground, is finally a home.

Final Thought: A Guided Direction

If you’re reading this and wondering if peace is possible for you too—let me be your reminder: it is.

Start where you are. You don’t need to have it all figured out. You don’t need to be fearless. You just need to be willing. Willing to face what hurts. Willing to ask for help. Willing to ask for a hug or a shoulder to cry on. Willing to believe that healing is not only possible—it’s your birthright.

Let your healing be sacred. Let your joy be loud. Let your story be a lighthouse for someone else still lost in the storm.

And when the moment comes—when you feel the shift, the lightness, the breath returning to your body—dance.

Because you, too, have arrived! I am so proud of you!

Love & Light,

Soldier Mom