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As a therapist, I sit with people every day who are trying to make sense of their pain.

Many of them have survived unspeakable trauma, and they’re hoping I can offer some kind of roadmap to healing.

The truth is, healing from trauma isn’t linear, and there’s no single “right” way to do it. But over the years, there are a few things I find myself saying again and again—things I think everyone deserves to hear.

If you’re carrying trauma, this is for you.

1. You are not broken.

I spent a long time believing I was broken. Before I ever sat in the therapist chair, I was the one sitting on the couch, convinced something was deeply wrong with me. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just “get over” things that had happened years ago. But the more I learned—both in therapy and in my training—the more I realized: trauma rewires your brain to survive, not to thrive. What you’re feeling isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength. You adapted. You made it through. That’s not brokenness. That’s resilience.

One thing I remind my clients of is how incredibly creative and resourceful they were in surviving. We honor those survival strategies in session because they kept you alive—and then we work together to figure out what no longer serves you and what kind of life you want to build now.

2. Safety comes first.

When people ask me where to start with healing, I say: start by finding safety. This could be a safe person, a safe space, or learning how to make your body feel a little less on edge. For me, it started with a weighted blanket and a tiny corner in my apartment where I kept things that grounded me—books, a candle that reminded me of my grandma, a photo of my dog. You don’t have to dive headfirst into painful memories.

Healing happens best when you feel safe enough to breathe. Your nervous system needs to know you’re not in danger anymore.

In my sessions, I often help clients identify what safety looks like for them—not what it “should” look like, but what actually makes them feel grounded. Sometimes it’s as simple as keeping a favorite stone in their pocket or practicing five slow breaths before they speak. We practice it together in session, and I’ve seen firsthand how those small moments of regulation can create powerful shifts.

3. You’re allowed to set boundaries.

This one was hard for me. I grew up believing being “good” meant being accommodating, selfless, and agreeable—no matter what it cost me. So I let people cross my boundaries again and again, thinking that’s just how life worked. Learning to say no without guilt was a revolutionary act.

You are allowed to set boundaries. You are allowed to protect your peace. Boundaries aren’t about shutting people out; they’re about letting the right people in—on your terms.

I can’t tell you how many times I sit with clients and practice boundary-setting scripts. Sometimes we write them out together:

“I’m not available for that conversation right now.”

“I care about you, but I need some space.”

We role-play them so they don’t feel so scary in the real world. And when a client comes back and tells me they said “no” and survived it? That’s a victory.

4. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting.

I used to think I had to forgive and forget in order to move on. But healing doesn’t erase the past. It changes your relationship to it. There are still moments when a song or a smell will bring me back to a painful memory—but it doesn’t undo me anymore. I can hold it with compassion instead of shame. Healing means the story doesn’t control you. You get to be the narrator now.

With clients, we often reframe those moments when old pain resurfaces. Instead of seeing it as failure, we see it as your brain offering something up for care. We approach it with curiosity:

“What is this memory asking for right now? What do I need?”

And every time they choose compassion instead of self-blame, healing happens.

5. You don’t have to do it alone.

For years, I was convinced that asking for help was weakness. I told myself I didn’t need anyone. But isolation kept me stuck. It wasn’t until I allowed myself to be vulnerable—with my own therapist, with trusted friends—that I began to feel relief.

Trauma happens in isolation, but healing happens in connection.

Whether it’s a friend, a support group, or a therapist, you deserve people who can see you clearly and hold space without judgment.

I see this in my work every day. Sometimes I’m the first person my client has ever told their story to out loud. It’s an honor I don’t take lightly. We go at their pace, and we sit in the hard stuff together. But the most powerful moments? When a client realizes they’re not alone anymore. That they can be fully seen and still accepted. That’s when the real work begins.

6. Your healing is yours.

There’s no timeline. No checklist. No perfect version of what it “should” look like. Some days you’ll feel strong. Other days, you’ll wonder if you’ve made any progress at all. I still have days when I think, “Why am I feeling this way? Haven’t I done enough work?” But healing isn’t about constant forward motion. It’s about showing up for yourself, again and again, in the ways that matter. Your healing is valid, exactly as it is.

When clients tell me they’re tired of feeling like they should be “over it by now,” I remind them:

You’re not late to your healing. You’re right on time.

We celebrate tiny wins together, like getting out of bed on a hard day or choosing not to numb out when they usually would. Those moments count. They’re everything.

I remind my clients (and myself) that healing isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about remembering who you were before the world told you otherwise. You are still here. You are still you. And that’s something powerful.

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