Trauma-Informed, Unpolished & Unapologetic: Reflections from an Almost Social Worker
For the truths that outgrow the roles they were handed.
Waking up doesn’t feel like becoming someone new. It feels like finally choosing my own voice after years of speaking in echoes. It feels like stepping onto a path that’s mine — not the one I was handed, not the one I survived, but the one I’m finally allowed to walk. It feels like finding little me exactly where I left her, tucked behind the door she closed so carefully, believing she had to stay quiet to stay safe. It feels like kneeling down to her level, looking her in the eyes, and saying, ‘You don’t have to hide anymore. I’m here now.’
~Rowan Hale
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≻: Picking Up The Peices
I started therapy again, and with it came this slow, hesitant return to journaling. Not the kind we did in grade school, where our biggest crisis…
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≻: The Clues I Left for Myself
What’s a mystery from your own life that you’ve never solved? The mystery I’ve never solved is myself — all the versions of me I…
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≻: Learning Myself Out Loud
There’s a particular intimacy in letting people see you while you’re still in motion. Not the finished version. Not the rehearsed one. Just the version…
