When the Abuse Doesn’t End — Even After You Leave

For the ones who’ve left but are still haunted. I see you.

For the ones who’ve left but are still haunted. I see you.

There are stories I’ve never said out loud.
Not because they aren’t true.
But because the truth still terrifies me.

Even now — after walking away, choosing peace, and beginning again — there’s a voice in the back of my mind that whispers:
“What if they find out you’re speaking?”
“What will they do if you tell the truth?”
“What if no one believes you?”

That’s the thing about surviving abuse:
It doesn’t always end when the relationship does.
Sometimes, the unraveling begins after you leave.

🌙 The Silence After Survival

There’s a myth that once you leave, you’re free.
But survivors know better.

Abuse often continues in less visible ways:

• Through whispers that reach the ears of people who once knew you.

• Through isolation from your old circles — friends, family, community.

• Through manipulation that shifts the narrative of who you are.

• Through subtle fear-based compliance: that inner alarm that says, “Don’t speak too loudly. Don’t be too visible.”

Even if the abuse was never physical, the body remembers:
The sound of the door being kicked in.
The holes in the walls.
The threats. The guns pulled out to silence you.
The loss of the dog you loved, with the words:
“If I can’t have him, no one can.”

Your nervous system doesn’t forget.

🕯️ The War Between Truth and Safety

There were times I wanted to speak.
To call it what it was.
But instead, I stayed silent.

Because the price of telling the truth felt too high.
Because survivors often learn that self-protection means silence.
Because when the world doesn’t understand what you’ve been through, telling your story can feel like standing trial for your own pain.

So I swallowed my words.
I let the shame — that never belonged to me — sit in my chest.
I let myself be misunderstood to avoid being attacked.

Even now, with space and healing between me and that life, I still sometimes look over my shoulder before sharing a sentence.

🩵 What Leaving Actually Looks Like

I’m not here to sensationalize or shame.
I’m here to disrupt the narrative that says healing is linear — or tidy.

Because it’s not.

Sometimes the harm continues in invisible ways:

• Through courtrooms and legal manipulation.

• Through your children, caught in the crossfire.

• Through systems that fail to protect or see you.

• Through fear — of what they’ll do, or say, if you finally name it.

But I need you to know something.

🌿 Your Story Matters — And You’re Allowed to Tell It

You don’t owe anyone your silence.
You’re allowed to protect your peace and still speak the truth of what happened.

You don’t have to name names.
You don’t have to share every detail.

But your story deserves breath.
And if you feel called to share it — in any form — that is a sacred act of reclamation.

💬 A Soft Invitation for You

If you’re still afraid to speak, I see you.
If you’ve tried and been silenced, I believe you.
If you’re not sure how to start, here’s a gentle place to begin.

This week, I invite you to:

• Write your story in a journal — just for you.

• Record a voice memo and listen back.

• Share a sentence with someone safe.

• Create something (art, poetry, music) that holds your truth — even if no one else sees it.

And if it feels right:
Share a piece of your truth with your community, your support group, or even with me.
You don’t have to share everything to take your power back.
You just have to start.

🫂 A Love Note to the One Still Afraid to Speak

You’re not too much.
You’re not imagining it.
You’re not broken — you were hurt.
And healing takes time.

You deserve to be safe.
You deserve to be heard.
You deserve to take up space in your own life again.

We don’t speak to hurt others.
We speak to heal ourselves.
We speak so that others know they’re not alone.

I’m still here.
And if you are too — I’m so proud of you.