Part Two: I Stopped Running

Choosing Peace and Acceptance in the Journey of Healing

There’s a moment in every survivor’s journey when we face a choice: to keep running from our past or to stop, turn around, and finally look it in the eye. For me, that moment came on an ordinary afternoon in my garden. After writing the poem that had surfaced memories of my childhood trauma, I knew I needed to get outside and ground myself in the present.

[Part One talks about the poem if you missed it – here is the link]

I walked barefoot into the garden, carrying the weight of the emotions that had surfaced. It felt like grief beneath my skin, settling heavily across my chest. If I could have wailed or raged, I would have—but I held it all in. I walked through the garden, watering the flowers, as if the mundane task might help me shake off the heaviness. But then, I realised, I didn’t need to keep moving. I didn’t need to keep running from what was coming up inside of me.

The Moment of Stopping

I turned off the faucet, dropped the hose on the grass, and sat on a long timber bench beside the flower beds. The sky was clear, the air was calm, and for the first time in a long time, I stopped. I let myself sit with the truth of what my childhood had been.

Troy came home not long after, sensing my quiet energy. Without saying anything, he sat beside me on the bench, and after a few moments, bumped my shoulder playfully. I told him about the journaling exercise and the poem I had written. It didn’t feel difficult to tell him—it felt necessary. I handed him the poem, and when he finished reading, his eyes were red.

‘Honey, you’ve got to do this,’ he said. ‘Keep writing. Let it out.’

That afternoon, something shifted in me. I stopped running from my past. I decided to face it, to let the tears come, and to let myself sit with the pain until it began to soften.

Reflection

In the weeks that followed, I cried more than I had in years. The tears felt like they had been waiting in little pockets inside me, each one assigned to a specific memory or emotion. As I let those tears flow, I began to feel lighter. The memories weren’t gone, but they no longer had the same power over me. With each tear shed, I felt a little more free.

Alone is Hard. Together is Better

If you find yourself running from your past, I encourage you to stop, even if just for a moment. Allow yourself the space to feel what’s been buried inside. Healing isn’t about “getting over it”—it’s about making peace with what happened and finding a way to live fully in the present.

If you’re ready to take this journey further, you’ll find resources in the “Need Support” section of this website, including peer support groups, helplines, and advocacy organisations. Healing is not something we do alone—we need support to move through it. I wouldn’t have said that as I began my healing journey – I did think I’d get through it alone. That I’d magic it all away somehow.

Who Knew This Is Where I’d Be Today

I’m very grateful for the support of a wonderful psychologist and my close family and friends. Some of them learned only that I had suffered from sibling sexual abuse because I was telling them about writing a book! I had known most of these people for 10-20 years, yet they didn’t know about my past. Both they and I had no idea what I was about to do to myself by simultaneously writing and falling apart and finding therapy, just because I did choose to share my story.

It combined vulnerability, fear, courage, and resolve to do what I said. I am so grateful I made that choice and did so with their support. It’s comforting to understand the fuller picture of all that I experienced. I thought for so long that it was just me being awkward me, who didn’t quite fit in really well. Opening up beyond the hurts to see what was possible for the remainder of my life was a gift of self-love. Life is beautiful, creative, peaceful, and far less dramatic than it ever was in the past.

Who knew that was what I’d discover?

Shared with love,

Alice