In February, I was thrilled to watch Alysa Liu skate in her Figure Skating Solo Competition. She had fun. I loved hearing about her story: quitting for a time and coming back on her terms because it’s fun and she loves a challenge. However, when I became a fan was during her post Gold Medal interview with NBCSports commentator, Mike Tirico.

Mike said to Alysa, “I think that hairstyle might be copied by a few young women around the country.”

In response, Alysa smiled, looked right at the camera and said, “Guys, do whatever you want with your hair.”1

BRAVO!

I’m adding: Do whatever you want with your hair and your body.2

Speaking of bodies

Many survivors of sexual assault experience shame, in particular regarding their own body. Like somehow their body attracted the abuser, which is nonsense. Abusers abuse because of their own brokenness, it has nothing to do with you. You merely got caught in their flurry of evilness.

Relating to this shame and trying to control what goes in and out of their body, many survivors of sexual assault develop eating disorders, 3

Kudos to Alysa for saying,4 “No one is going to starve me, or tell me what I can and can’t eat,” in an interview with 60 Minutes.

This past week, Elizabeth Smart shared her celebration of her body:

“My body has carried me through every worst day, every hellish grueling experience, it’s created and nurtured three beautiful children, my body has risen to every single challenge life has presented it with, and carried me through so I refuse to be ashamed of it. I refuse to feel embarrassed about trying something new and am embracing my chance at life to the absolute fullest I can. I only hope that we all find the courage to chase new experiences, goals, bettering ourselves, and most importantly happiness.”5

You are a Miracle.

You don’t need to achieve extraordinary success to feel like you belong.

As I wrote in my reaction to the movie “Nyad” You don’t need an academy award, a Gold Medal, or even get a first place medal to compensate for the shame you felt from your abuse. If you want to climb the highest mountains, swim across the ocean, win a body building competition, or get an Olympic Gold Medal, you can. But, if you don’t want to do that, you don’t need to do those exceptional activities. You are enough. 6

Even giving a little boy back his cowboy boots is enough.7

Remember, you don’t need a Gold Medal or a First Place Finish to have fun and enjoy your pursuits. “…do whatever you want with your hair”8 and “…find the courage to chase new experiences, goals, bettering ourselves, and most importantly happiness.”9

Or just give a little one back their cowboy boots. You are enough.

Preface by April Daniels:
This article was brought to my attention by one of our subscribers, who wondered if Vinnie Vinzetta’s perp was LDS. The reason the question was brought to my attention is that he references his perp as an “elder” in his religious organization. Please remember: There are other religious groups who use the title “Elder” for various positions.
The reason I’m copying and forwarding this article in it’s entirety, is because I believe there is a myth that only little girls are sexual abused as children. I know that little boys are as easily groomed and abused as little girls. I believe that it is a crime of domination. With that said, I applaud Vinnie Vinzetta for publicly sharing his story.

His abuse, fears about revealing it, and healing process seem to follow a common path, that all of us, male or female, who have abused as children, follow.

With that said, here is the article, copied in it’s entirety from the San AntinonExpress, written by staff writer, By Rhyma Castillo:

In a statement that he calls the “most difficult” yet “most important” thing he’s ever done, KENS-TV sports reporter Vinnie Vinzetta shared his experience surviving childhood sexual abuse.

The abuse began when Vinzetta was just 13 years old, growing up in Oklahoma, he said in a Sunday report from KENS.

A neighbor of his “was a church elder and an EMS ambulance worker,” Vinzetta said, noting how his abuser had an adopted son himself. “He had everyone fooled about who he really was.”

After his parents divorced, Vinzetta, his mother and his sister moved into his aunt and uncle’s lake house. Shortly after, Vinzetta said his family was devastated by his cousin’s sudden death. “It was an impossible time for the family, as it would be for any.”

It was during this vulnerable time when Vinzetta said his abuser began taking advantage of him through “grooming,” a strategy that predators use to “gain the trust and compliance of the child or young person (and those around them) and to establish secrecy and silence to avoid disclosure,” according to Bravehearts.

“Child pedophiles are, sadly, very good at what they do. They are some of the worst of the worst. Maybe the very worst,” Vinzetta wrote. He noted his abuser took advantage by positioning himself as a “father figure” in Vinzetta’s life.

“I was a 13-year-old boy looking for a father figure. He told me there were things that fathers teach sons, and since mine was away after the divorce and my uncle worked out of town during the week, he needed to teach me things that fathers teach sons,” he wrote. “He stole my innocence. He forever altered the course of my life.”

Vinzetta said his abuser perpetrated the offense multiple times, finally ending when Vinzetta “begged him to please not touch me anymore. He never did. And he made me promise that I’d never tell anyone about it,” he added, noting that he carried an immense sense of shame within himself “as any young boy would.”

After his abuser died of a terminal illness, Vinzetta said he felt a sense of relief knowing “that he couldn’t hurt anymore children.”

Vinzetta didn’t tell anyone about the abuse until 2011, nearly 25 years after it happened. He publicly addressed the abuse in an August 2025 update to social media, stating that surviving it was a key factor in dedicating his life to helping children. Now, he’s sharing his story of survival through KENS to become a “champion” for those who have suffered through similar experiences, “to let them know they did nothing wrong, and they don’t have to be afraid or ashamed.”

“I didn’t know how to process it then, but I do now,” he said. “It is the most important thing I’ve ever done in life, surviving childhood sexual abuse.”

April 14, 2026

Rhyma Castillo
Trending Reporter

Rhyma Castillo is a trending reporter for the Express-News and a member of its Digital Go Team. She can be reached at Rhyma.Castillo@express-news.net.

A native of San Antonio and a Texas A&M University graduate, she is a journalist with nearly a decade of experience. She has reported on politics, immigration, climate change, gun violence, and workers’ rights. Additionally, she excels in lifestyle and entertainment writing, covering music, television, video games, technology, and relationships.

In her free time, she enjoys painting, drawing, cooking, hiking, climbing, gardening, playing video games, cuddling with her cats, and making music with her band.

Read the article directly on the San Antino Express News.

Yesterday was the funeral of Boss’s son. It’s still very shocking and it seemed that everyone, especially the family, was still stunned. In the midst of their grief and tears, the service was lovely.

I didn’t even bother to try to hold back my tears. It was simply too sad. At the end, Jennifer gave the closing prayer. A beautiful prayer. Thanking God for such a wonderful, good soul to have lived amongst us. A wonderful husband, father and funcle….

“FUNCLE?” “During the prayer?” I thought.

I bit my lip because I simply couldn’t laugh out loud1, not during the prayer and not during a funeral. But, FUNCLE?

Jennifer’s kids called her brother the FUNCLE. The fun uncle.

How apropos. The fun uncle!

Laughter through tears. One of my favorite emotions. In times of deep sadness and grief, may we all have a splash of joy. Maybe even a laugh amongst the tears.

Keep healing, and you will experience all the vibrant authentic emotions this beautiful life has to offer. Life is joyful, fun, and sad when parts of it end.

Part of the gift is the grief.

An entry from Paperdolls & Cowboy Boots:

June 7, 1991

Jennifer’s father heard about my abuse and called me early this morning. Jennifer’s dad is a fun-loving, charismatic guy. Everyone outside of their family calls him “Boss.” Anyway, Boss asked me to lunch. Boss was a Prisoner of War in Germany during WWII. He was a fighter pilot and spent most of the war in a POW camp. He rarely talks about it.

For two hours today, I listened to him. He talked about his time as a Prisoner of War. He almost died there. He built a bond with the other American Prisoners that is unbreakable. They still get together. That’s the only time he talks about it--until now. He showed me a large scrapbook of all his medals, notes, and photos from the War. He told me to always live my life to the fullest and have fun every day. One page of his book had a single scrap of paper, barely legible:

dum spiro, spero.

I placed my finger slightly below the scrap of paper. Reverently he whispered, “While I breathe, I hope.”

The prisoners would whisper that phrase, in Latin, to one another. Sometimes, if a prisoner woke up from a horrible nightmare to realize awakening was a worse nightmare, they would slide this tiny scrap of paper to him. Boss had it when they were liberated. His eyes brimmed with tears when he said, “I almost lost hope.”

He told me to never lose hope. To remember that it’s over. When things come up that remind me of the past, to simply say to myself that I already survived it. They can’t hurt me anymore. Then, he said, “Try to do something fun.” He said, “If you can’t do something fun right then, start thinking about planning a time to have some fun.” Boss is the best skier and water skier I know. When he was in that German POW camp, he vowed that if he made it out alive, that he would live. He said, “And now, I’m telling you: live. Enjoy your life. Remember: it’s over. They can never hurt you again. You are strong. Enjoy your life: dum spiro, spero, April.”1

Last week I heard the news that Jennifer’s brother, Boss’s youngest son, has a very progressive form of cancer, and has mere days possibly weeks to live. I am shocked and stunned. I assumed this son would live forever, or at least out live me. Like his father, Boss, this son lived life to the fullest with more of a quiet persona, he still has Boss’s steadfast capacity for love, joy, and adventure.

Here is Boss’s son, with his grandson surfing behind a boat:

It’s a bit of a challenge to learn to pop up on a surf board behind a boat. Even more challenging while holding then balancing a grandchild. As Boss said, “Enjoy your life.”

Part of the Gift is the Grief2

To my beloved survivors:

As you heal and grow, you will encounter life’s pain. It’s what everyone experiences, and nothing like the soul crushing attempted annihilation of your sense of self that you experienced when you were sexually abused as a child. Please don’t be afraid to experience love, joy, and have fun. Although you will feel pain and loss, it will never be as bad as what you experienced as a child.

Fifty springs are little room….To see the cherry hung with snow.

This past week, we had a light spring snowstorm. I glanced out my top window and watched the large, fluffy flakes cascade down in front of a flowering tree. I thought of A.E. Housman’s poem, “Loveliest of trees.” It’s about a young man of twenty who realizes he only has fifty more years to enjoy the cherry blossoms hung with snow.3

Live, love, and know that part of the gift is the grief. Life is filled with gifts. Don’t be afraid to embrace them. You deserve joy, love, and to feel the sadness when those with whom you love are gone.

Heal to embrace the wisdom that your time is finite also. Enjoy the beauty of spring blossoms, even amidst the snow.

dum spiro, spero

Sexual abuse, especially childhood sexual abuse, is primarily a crime of domination. It’s not about sex, preferences or sexual gratification. It’s about domination.

Teaching our youth that domination and competition are old ways of thinking and old ways of thought, is fundamental to the survival of our species. And, that’s why I like youth sports, particularly Little League Baseball.

Baseball exemplifies a team sport. It’s readily apparent that one can score without the ball.1 Teamwork: get a hit in order for your teammate to score. Teamwork and cooperation are closely linked.

Conflict = Do-Over

18 months before the first release of Paperdolls, I left my parents’s lucrative2 family business. I moved to the largest firm in the west. At my new firm, which was one of he oldest around, I was the first female Executive Producer.

I attended management meetings with the owners, managers and magnetic executive producers. All men. The team welcomed me warmly. All the men, supported me, helped me out, even gave me leads. I could reach a clientele in which they couldn’t, and they knew that if I succeeded, we all benefited.

After bringing in lots of new business and hundreds of new proposals to be prepared, I learned that the other women in the firm were not supportive. They didn’t like me at all. They nicknamed me “Barbie” and a few even went out of their way to sabotage my work. I quickly learned to avoid them, give prospects my personal mobile number, and work around them. However, I was perplexed enough to ask my therapist, Karen Fisher, about it:

“It seems like many of the women resent me."

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, I have a stack of new proposals to get out. One underwriter says I got them in too early, and she has to wait to get the pricing. I waited. Now, she’s telling management that I didn’t give her enough time.”

“What did you do?”

“I went into the office last weekend. Barely slept all weekend. But, I did all the underwriting, pricing and proposals myself. I’m presenting this week, I had to get it done.”

Karen asked a few more questions. Then, calmly told me one of her stories about how little girls and little boys are socialized differently. (Please keep in mind, at this time, in Utah, little girls did not play little league baseball):

“Most men grew up playing some type of baseball. If it wasn’t organized Little League baseball, it was a school recess or even after school in the neighborhood.”

I nodded in agreement.

“What happens when there is a controversy about a play?”

They argue, and if they can’t reach a conclusion, they play a “do-over.”

Karen exclaimed, “Exactly!” Because the game must go on! A controversy doesn’t end the game.

I didn’t get her point. I said, “Of course the game goes on, a discrepancy about a call won’t stop everyone from playing. That’s why they are there.”

Karen continued, “So, we have a group of little girls playing dolls. There’s a problem. What happens?”

I didn’t know. For some reason, there were many more little boys3 in my childhood neighborhood than little girls.

Karen continued, “The girls have no playbook or even street rules. Usually, if there’s a conflict, they stop. They just quite playing. Sometimes they play something else, but frequently, they stop playing and go home.”

An a-ha for me.

“The little girls don’t learn that conflicts and do-overs and mistakes are all part of it. They don’t learn to play as a team.”

So here I am in this big organization. These women, who never learned to play as a team, look at me, the first female executive, and have no idea how to play as a team4.

Are men better at teamwork and cooperation than women?

In my experience in the corporate world, I’d say yes. But, has it changed? Little girls have been able to play little league baseball since the mid 70s.5 Has it helped women play better with one another? I hope so.

If men are better at teamwork and cooperation, why is there such a prevalence of men committing the atrocious sexual assault crimes of dominance and control?6

I don’t know. Maybe, these men never played team sports or learned to socialize as kids. Maybe they were victimized themselves. But, I sure love to have this conversation openly discussed. It’s not an easy conversation, but identifying the problem(s) will help us cure it.

Please talk about it, especially with those you trust.

Competition

To conclude, I would like to tell one story from my youth sports era. As a kid, I never thought that Mark Spitz’s work records would ever be beat. I had a wise coach back then, who insisted that we focus on bettering ourselves and our personal best times and scores. This coach assured us that Spitz’s records would be beaten (they were). And, it didn’t matter. It was about our own development and growth.

Later, on a long road trip we had a lengthy discussion about youth sports and ameatuer athletics. In my teenage mind, I thought it was a good training ground for pro sports, or at least a college scholarship. He laughed, then asked, “Do you know how many of these kids will get a scholarship?”7

I shook my head no.

He exclaimed: “Less than 1% “8

Children in little league sports is not about winning or gettng a college scholarship or making it in the pros. It’s so much more than that.

It’s about learning to work together, teamwork, and coroporation.

As a lofty hope, my dream is it will teach that domination is obsolete.

And, maybe, maybe if we curtail to outdated urge of domination, we will begin to alleviate childhood sexual abuse.

I carefully swept up the pieces and placed them in my etched glass box of keepsakes.

My mother bought the plate for me, after one of their trips abroad. She said that”Den Lille Havfrue” reminded her of me.

Her meaning runs deep. I understand. If you know me, or even read, Paperdolls, you’ll understand some of her meaning also.

When the earthquake shook the house and the plate fell, I sighed. My sigh signaled an ending.

My mother has been gone several years, I thought one more remembrance of her was gone.

The last few days, I’ve been thinking about war and the insanity of war.1 2 I thought of my little plate commemorating “Den Lille Havfrue,” with the shattered pieces in my keepsake box. I thought of the original bronze statue in Denmark that was built in 1913.

“Den Lille Havfrue” has stood watch during two world wars. Ironically, in recent years it’s endured intentional vandalism.3

Maybe she symbolizes more than my mother even saw.

I retrieved all the pieces. I didn’t have gold or colored glue for the full “Kintsugi” therapeutic experience but I carefully pieced her back together.

I had to hold each piece for several minutes for it to adhere. Then, I propped up each piece with books or notepads—so the curves would bond. I took breaks, and in time, all the pieces held. I let it sit for 24 hours. This morning, the cracks are strong.

I get the relationship between the broken pieces of ourselves, unhealed wounds and the practice of Kintsugi. It takes time. There is beauty in the broken.

There is hope. We are so much more than the bronze statue entitled, “Den Lille Havfrue.” You can continue healing, mending and repairing. Slowly, piece by piece, and with patience, you can heal. Your life is sacred and important.

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In 2003, after a glorious day of skiing, I was watching the news (like almost everyone else in Utah) about the miracle that Elizabeth Smart was found. And she was alive. Then, I saw the photo of her perpetrator when he was younger—and knew him. As a kid, I never knew his name. But, I knew him. He was one of my abusers.2

After that, when Carol and I decided we needed to release the update3 We decided to switch that date we listed as my birthday to my real birthday. It was quite significant that Elizabeth was found: On my birthday.

My Birthday Now

Nothing extraordinary happened this year. A simple, relaxing day. I was coming down from a walk on the Bonneville Shoreline trail, and I thought of the scene in The Color Purple, when Celie leaves her abuser. As the car is pulling away, she exclaims,

“I’m poor
Black4
I may even be ugly.
But Dear God
I’m here.
I’m here.”

I’m Here.

Stay here is my sincere wish for you. Stay alive. You can heal. You can create your own meaningful and authentic life. If I can do it, so can you.

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⚠️ Content Note / Trigger Warning

This episode includes discussion of sexual trauma, childhood sexual abuse, coercion, grooming, repression, and their impact on intimacy, relationships, and the nervous system.
Please listen with care and at your own pace. You are always welcome to pause, skip, or return when and if it feels right for you.

If you or someone you know is experiencing sexual violence or assault, the National Sexual Assault Hotline: 800.656.HOPE (4673) provides emotional support, advice, and crisis intervention.

Watch Now

Today’s episode is tender—and important.

In this episode of How to Blow Up Your Life, I’m joined by a truly special guest: April Daniels —author, survivor, and someone who has done the kind of healing work that doesn’t just change a life… it rebuilds one.

We’re talking about sexual trauma—and specifically how it impacts our relationships. The relationship we have with our bodies. The relationship we have with intimacy. The relationship we have with trust. And, most quietly, the relationship we have with ourselves.

This conversation is sensitive, and I want you to move through it with care. If you need to pause, take a breath, or come back later—please do. There is no “right way” to listen to something like this. There is only your way.

April shares how her healing began through a completely different doorway—discovering that her parents were alcoholics, stepping into codependency recovery, and beginning to see how often the patterns we grow up with become the patterns we repeat. And then, through therapy, something cracked open. Repressed memories surfaced. Her life—this successful, high-achieving, “I’m fine” life—collapsed under the weight of what her nervous system had been carrying all along.

If you’ve lived through anything like that, you know: when the truth returns, it doesn’t arrive politely…

It arrives like a storm.

One of the most powerful parts of this episode is how April describes the way trauma can cut us off from ourselves. She talks about feeling like she was four years old again in a thirty-year-old body—how trauma doesn’t just live in the past, it can pull you back into the past emotionally. We talk about how repression doesn’t only block traumatic memories—it can block joy, play, presence, and even basic access to your own inner world.

We also talk about something I wish more people understood: sexual trauma isn’t only “the thing you think it is.” It can be coercion. Grooming. Psychological violation. Exposure. Power and domination disguised as normalcy. It’s not about sex—it’s about power, vulnerability, and objectification. About being reduced from a person into an object.

And that carries into adulthood in ways that are often invisible from the outside.

In this episode, we explore:

• How sexual trauma impacts intimacy, trust, and embodiment

• The ways trauma can disconnect us from ourselves—not just our memories

• Why repression can block joy, creativity, and presence alongside pain

• How trauma can show up as over-functioning, intellectualizing, or emotional distance

• Why boundaries can feel especially difficult after violations

• How healing can unlock parts of you you didn’t even know were locked away

• What it actually means to come back to yourself, piece by piece

April also shares how healing can restore creativity, competence, and joy—and how building a beautiful life doesn’t require becoming someone else. It requires returning to who you already are.

Her message to survivors is simple and fierce: If I can do it, you can do it.

And before we close, she leaves us with something I want to underline, highlight, and repeat: Believe children.

If a child tells you something, don’t dismiss it. Don’t minimize it. Don’t explain it away.

Check it out.

About April

April Daniels is the author of Paperdolls & Cowboy Boots, a powerful memoir about healing from sexual trauma and reclaiming the self after violation. Her work speaks to the long arc of recovery—and to what becomes possible when truth, safety, and compassion are allowed to coexist.

✨ Find April here on Substack:

Paperdolls & Cowboy Boots Book (Paperdolls~Today)

Discussions and inspiration surrounding the re-released book, "Paperdolls & Cowboy Boots: The original Paperdolls: Healing from Sexual Abuse in Mormon Neighborhoods and the True Events of the Subsequent Decades

By April Daniels

• Book: Paperdolls and Cowboy Boots, by April Daniels and Carol Scott

• April talks about how her story is tragically linked to that of both Elizabeth Smart and Kacie Woody. Many already know Elizabeth Smart’s story from the news media and her NY Times Best-Selling books, as well as her foundation dedicated to bringing hope, empowerment, and change in the fight against sexual violence. Kacies’ story had a different ending, unfortunately. To learn more about Kacie Woody, please read her Wikipedia page or watch this news report.

Additional Links

• Book: My Father’s House : Memoir of Incest and Healing, by Sylvia Fraser

Introduction
I’m a guest on Sara Stansberry’s “How to Blow Up Your Life.” It drops tomorrow. And, yes, I show my face. This excellent piece, “Healing From Sexual Trauma One Boundary at a Time: Recovery isn’t just healing. It’s reclamation” 1serves as an introduction to our conversation.

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How to Reclaim Your Body and Your Power After Trauma

It’s taking back your body after someone treated it like it was theirs. It’s reclaiming your voice after being told your truth was too much, too dramatic, or too inconvenient. It’s breaking every rule you internalized about what you owe, who you should be, and what love is supposed to look like.

And if you’ve ever experienced sexual trauma—whether it was an assault, exposure to pornography as a child, betrayal in your marriage, or a thousand other ways your boundaries could be violated, you know that recovery is a life-long practice.

A daily, messy, imperfect practice of choosing yourself when every instinct tells you to disappear.

I remember the first time my therapist explained sexual trauma to me. I was in my thirties, sitting in her office, trying to make sense of why I felt so disconnected from my own body.

The Shame That Isn’t Yours to Carry

“Sexual crimes are the only crimes where the perpetrator walks away feeling justified, and the victim walks away feeling ashamed,” she said. “Think about it. If someone robbed your house, you’d be mad about it. You wouldn’t feel ashamed that you had a house or that there was a window that allowed the crime to occur.”

What she said made so much sense, yet somehow I couldn’t shake the shame that had been lying dormant behind the scenes for years.

What Trauma Does to Your Relationships

Tomorrow, I’m sitting down with April Daniels —speaker, advocate for sexual trauma survivors, and author of Paperdolls and Cowboy Boots—to talk about something most people don’t address: how sexual trauma shapes every relationship you have, not just the intimate ones.

In our conversation, April talks about how trauma can lead to superficial relationships because when you’re disconnected from yourself, you can’t truly connect with others. You’re performing. Managing. Protecting.

I recognized myself immediately in what she was saying.

For years, I thought something was wrong with me. Shut down, hypervigilant, afraid of the world around me.

It wasn’t until I started trauma therapy that I understood: this was my body trying to protect me.

When you’ve been violated, your nervous system learns to stay on high alert. It doesn’t trust safety because safety was taken from you. And so even in moments when you’re not in danger, your body braces for impact.

Recovery means teaching your body that it’s safe now and that you’re in control. You get to decide who touches you, when, and how.

And that takes time - more time than anyone tells you it will.

Breaking the Rules You Didn’t Know You Were Following

One of the hardest parts of recovery was realizing how many unspoken rules I’d internalized about my body and my sexuality:

• Good women don’t talk about sex.

• Your needs aren’t as important as his comfort.

• If you say no, you’re being difficult.

These rules kept me small. They kept me silent. They kept me performing instead of participating.

Breaking them felt terrifying. Like I was betraying some invisible contract I’d signed without realizing it.

In my conversation with April, she talks about how society objectifies people—particularly women—reducing them to objects for others’ satisfaction rather than treating them as whole human beings with agency and boundaries. And how this cultural backdrop makes it even harder for survivors to reclaim their sense of self.

But here’s what I learned: those rules were never about protecting me. They were about protecting everyone else from my truth.

And I was done with that.

What Reclamation Actually Looks Like

Reclamation isn’t one big moment. It’s a thousand small ones:

• The first time you say, “I’m not in the mood,” and don’t apologize for it.

• The first time you tell your partner what you need and don’t soften it with “if that’s okay.”

• The first time you feel pleasure in your body and don’t immediately shut it down out of guilt or shame.

• The first time you set a boundary and hold it, even when someone pushes back.

• The first time you choose connection over performance.

It’s learning that your body isn’t something to tolerate or manage. It’s yours and you get to decide what happens to it.

Installing Boundaries in Every Area of Your Life

Here’s the thing about sexual trauma: it doesn’t stay in the bedroom. It bleeds into every relationship, every decision, every interaction.

If you learned early on that your boundaries don’t matter, you carry that belief into your friendships, your work, and your parenting. You say yes when you mean no. You over-explain. You accommodate. You shrink to make others comfortable.

Recovery means installing boundaries everywhere:

• At work, when someone asks for more than you can give

• With family, when they cross lines you’ve set

• In friendships, when someone takes more than they offer

• With your kids, when you model what healthy limits look like

• In romantic relationships, when you stop performing and start being honest

It’s not just about reclaiming your body. It’s about reclaiming your voice. Your agency. Your power.

In our podcast episode dropping February 25th, April and I dig into how to navigate healthy relationships after trauma - how to communicate your needs, how to recognize when you’re falling into old patterns, and how to trust yourself enough to stay present instead of dissociating.

Because that’s the real work: learning to stay in your body instead of leaving it.

The Power of Sharing Your Story

One thing April emphasizes in our conversation is the power of sharing personal stories—both for the speaker and the listener. When you share your story, you’re not just processing your own healing. You’re giving someone else permission to name what happened to them. To believe their own experience. To know they’re not alone.

That’s why I’m writing this essay. That’s why April wrote her book. That’s why we’re having this conversation on the podcast.

Because silence protects perpetrators. And speaking up empowers survivors.

If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself—if you’ve carried shame that isn’t yours, if you’ve minimized your trauma, if you’ve spent years trying to just get over it—I want you to know:

You’re not broken. You’re not too much. You’re not being dramatic.

You’re healing. And healing doesn’t follow a timeline. It doesn’t care about productivity or progress metrics. It just asks you to keep showing up for yourself, one messy, imperfect day at a time.

Creating a Fulfilling Life After Trauma

At the end of my conversation with April, we talk about something that gave me so much hope: the possibility of creating a fulfilling life after trauma.

Not in spite of the trauma. Not by erasing it or pretending it didn’t happen. But by doing the work to reclaim yourself—your body, your voice, your power—so you can show up fully in your life.

That’s what recovery is. Not forgetting or fixing. But reclaiming.

And you get to decide what comes next.

Listen to the Full Conversation

If this essay resonates with you, I hope you’ll listen to my conversation with April Daniels on the How to Blow Up Your Life podcast, dropping February 25th. We go deeper into:

• How psychological manipulation precedes physical trauma

• The ways trauma shows up in your relationships (even the non-romantic ones)

• How to recognize when you’re objectifying yourself versus honoring yourself

• Practical tools for navigating intimacy after trauma

• Why believing and supporting survivors—especially children—is crucial

• How writing and storytelling can be part of your healing journey

April’s wisdom, combined with her own lived experience, offers a roadmap for anyone navigating this complex, painful, necessary work.

You Don’t Have to Do This Alone

If you’re ready to reclaim your voice, your body, and your life, let’s talk. Subscribe here for weekly essays on healing and transformation. And if you need more support, reach out for 1:1 coaching.

Because you deserve to feel whole again. And that’s not just possible—it’s your birthright.

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I couldn’t get out of bed. I felt as if I was stuck in treacle, and every part of me felt heavy. Until then, I never knew the weight of anguish, but now it was crushing me. I’d awoken into a nightmare.

As I began getting up — a process that took about 30 minutes — I noticed the world had lost its color. Everything was grey and cold. I felt dead inside.

Death would have been a respite, but I wasn’t so lucky. I feared suicide. I feared the pain, the suffering it’d cause my family, and the possibility of botching it. This was a spiritual no man’s land. Dead but still breathing.

I had no interest in anything: no concentration or energy. Worse, a wall, as strong as any in the physical realm, prevented love from getting to me. My family was there, hugging and reassuring me, but I didn’t feel any of it. My mind imprisoned me. Everything I’d ever done wrong came back to haunt me.

This is depression; I felt like this every day for years.

So what’s sadness?

Sadness is a normal emotion. It’s so routine that we might not even notice. Life is full of sadness and heartbreak. We don’t get everything we want or deserve. People don’t treat us as we hoped. Loved ones leave us. Sadness comes in many forms and intensities.

The fact that sadness is normal doesn’t make it pleasant. You can have extreme sorrow, and the pain can feel agonizing. I don’t want to minimize such suffering.

I felt extreme sadness when my dad died in 2019. I pined for two years. I cried daily as every pleasant memory tortured me.

I remembered my dad trying to dip in the freezing Scottish water while on holiday. He made it as hard as possible, as he would tiptoe in so slowly that his whole body felt the sting. I used to go straight in and tease him until my patience ran out, and I splashed him from head to toe. He would squeal and back away.

I relived Christmases from my childhood. He once made an entire model of a forest with various characters he had created in the children’s books he used to write for me.

Losing him was devastating. But I still felt a connection to life. I could still feel and give love and comfort.

Sadness vs. Depression.

Sadness, even when intense, tends to move. It rises and falls.

Depression often doesn’t even have an identifiable cause. I know someone who has had depression for decades. It’s her default state. She has medication that takes the edge off, but she’s a long way from happy. It doesn’t matter whether she has problems — depression is her baseline.

My depression was caused by having to medically retire from the police due to PTSD. I lost my purpose, my security, and my identity. I went from being someone important to a big bag of useless trash overnight, and it hurt more than I can describe.

The mental health professionals I used to see on calls as a police officer now saw me as a patient.

Taking the pressure off will help with sadness. Resting can make you feel better, as can eating your favorite food, listening to music, etc.

None of that’ll help your depression. As you watch TV, you’ll be criticized by your inner self for being an underachieving loser. You’ll be insulted for being a fat slob if you eat your favorite food. Depression provides no respite. I was bullied for years as a teenager, but that never came close to the abuse I gave myself every minute of the day during my depression years.

Depression often requires more than rest and time. You may need to see a Doctor, and you need to be honest when you do. Mental illness makes liars of the most honest people. We keep our worst moments to ourselves. We keep how close we come to suicide private so as not to hurt anyone. We tell people what they want to hear — how much better we feel today. But your recovery relies on telling a doctor the truth.

Promoting mental health awareness to dispel ignorance.

The reason people mistake depression for sadness is that they don’t know any better, and because everyone’s been sad, they’ll accuse you of being a weak, workshy slacker.

People need to know that sadness is to depression what a puddle is to an ocean. That education should start in school.

We need to bring mental illness out of the shadows. It’s still a taboo subject. People “support” mentally ill people as long as they follow the rules. If you don’t do anything risky or say anything disgusting, you’ll be “supported.” You’ll be cared for if you toe the line and reduce mental illness to quirky personality traits.

But actual mental illness is shocking and gross — unpalatable and intimidating. Ask any person with schizophrenia how supported they feel.

The color returned.

This morning, I woke up and jumped out of bed immediately into a world of color. I’ve spent all day doing what I love — trading, investing, and writing. I hugged my mum, and we said we love each other. I hugged my girlfriend when she came home, and I felt her love.

My life contrasts sharply with the suffering I endured for all those years. I never thought I’d get here. I still have times when I struggle, but depression no longer runs my life.

Sadness hurts, but it keeps you tethered to life. Depression severs the rope.

If you recognised yourself in this — the heaviness, the numbness, the wall between you and the people who love you — please don’t reduce it to “just sadness.”

Depression is real. And it deserves real support.

If you’re struggling, speak to your doctor. Be honest. Your life is worth more than silence.

If you want structured, forward-looking support alongside whatever medical help you’re receiving, I work 1-to-1 with people rebuilding identity and direction after mental health struggles. You can read about coaching here.

If you’d rather start privately, my Meaning Reset Guide is a quiet first step toward reconnecting with purpose and clarity.

And if this kind of honest writing resonates with you, support my mission to reduce the suicide rate by becoming a paid subscriber.

Shattered Silence

The story no one wanted to tell. The story no one wanted to hear. Not even me.

“No one wants to hear this story. Not even April. I don’t want to tell it. But if I open my mouth (it’s been closed for four years), it comes out. I want to be in the recovery room again, but instead I am here now, telling my story.

It is February 14, 1986. Cold outside but not snowing. Kids can ring door bells and run and hide if they want to, but they don’t do that much anymore. Now they put their Valentines in a shoe box they’ve covered at home with white Kleenex and red crepe paper. Where it’s Elmer-glued, the crepe paper is all squashed and blobby. They line the boxes up on the school room worktable. The boys don’t care how full their boxes are, but the little girls wait until they go home and then count the cards over and over sitting on the floor by their beds after they’ve pulled off the candy hearts and suckers. My grandchildren took their boxes to school yesterday.

This February 14th I am sitting in a therapist’s office waiting. My two oldest grandchildren, Timothy and Isabel, are watching the fish in an aquarium whose glass is so smudged with little fingerprints it’s not pleasant to look at the fish. I’m here because at the last minute Loraine’s baby fell and cut his chin and she had to take him in for stitches. She should be here any minute now. That’s what I’ve been telling myself for fifteen minutes.

I had never been in this waiting room until three weeks ago. Now it’s where I seem to live.

I don’t much like the people here in this waiting room.

One man fidgets so much you think he must have a disease. A woman pretends to read Parents Magazine, but she doesn’t turn any pages. Little kids play with and fight over the blocks and stuffed animals. The woman next to me is fat and worn, and she isn’t changing her smelly baby. She keeps trying to talk to me. She says awful things, and she won’t shut up. She says her little girl ripped the head off her new doll and stuck burning matches in the cloth body. She says her husband thinks the child should have to pay for the doll, teach her to take care of property.

I don’t want to hear these stories. I don’t want to sit in this office. I’m not one of these people in their capes. I keep saying over and over in my head, “Please, God, please.” These people are the Others. I want mother-fucker to be just a name scrungy truck drivers yell at each other on Los Angeles freeways.”1

—Carol Scott, Co-Author, Paperdolls & Cowboy Boots, page 47

February 14, 2026 is the 40th Anniversary of the Scott Children Telling

The Scott Grandchildren and Children are doing remarkably well. It’s a testament to those who break the silence, tell, and get therapeutic support early that they can almost lead lives where the scars of the abuse is barely visible.2

My co-author passed away a few years ago. I’ve always shied away from commenting on her portion of the book, because it’s not my story. Yes, there are ties between our two stories, especially with Hank, who as a teenager abused me, then grew to be an adult and ravaged the Scott’s family and many in their elite Mormon Neighborhood.

But, now that my co-author is gone, I’m the only one left to speak: I pray the wounds of spiritual betrayal she felt from the Mormon Church have subsided. I pray she knows she helped a lot of people. I hope she knows she did a lot to help many.

“I didn’t do enough”

There’s a Hebrew saying, depicted in Schinldler’s List: “Anyone who saves a life is as if he saves the world entire.”

At the end of the movie, Oskar Schindler quietly collapses and exclaims, “I didn’t do enough”

I felt that way particularly after Kacie Woody was killed .and Elizabeth Smart was kidnapped.

I didn’t do enough.3

I always sensed my co-author and her husband felt that they didn’t do enough either. In my perception, I believe they wanted the LDS Church to publicly acknowledge the horror and suffering of the children.

It never happened. 4

Saving one life is sacred.

After Paperdolls: Healing from Sexual Abuse in Mormon Neighborhoods was published in 1992, we received hundreds, in not thousands of letters, messages and correspondence from other sexual abuse victims and survivors. Many uttered hushed whispers that my story was a mirror to their own. Others professed that we saved their life.

One life saved might not be the world entire. But, it’s something. Something divine and sacred. Life is sacred.

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Acknowledgement, Justice, and Responsibility

Acknowledgement and justice would help victims and survivors tremendously. I believe it would help the perpetrators also.5 However, even if a victim/survivor never receives acknowledge, indemnification, spiritual or legal justice—a victim/survivor can heal.

To my beloved survivors, even if your perps are slinging DARVO6 attacks at you and conjuring up a lot of rubbish—you can heal. I strongly encourage you to take action to protect yourself, remove yourself from their evil attacks. Then, take time to heal. Get in a support group. Get into therapy. Go to SAPREA. Call RAINN. There are resources for you. You can heal.

Your life is important. You are sacred.

February 11, 2026: I have been asked several times to comment on the entire “Epstein Files” debacle in the USA.1 Now that many more of the files have been released, others have asked me if I’m utterly stunned that there aren’t rampant arrests, prosecutions, and utter revolt at the breadth and sickness of this entire situation.

Tragically, my answer is no, I’m not stunned. This is what I wrote to a friend on Social Media:

Sadly, I’m not confused or surprised at all. I have always supported the release of the Epstein Files -- with victim’s identifying details redacted--and only victims information redacted.

But, for over 3 decades now, I’m acutely aware of those in “power” doing absolutely nothing. If they do anything, it’s usually to minimize the atrocity or blame the victims or endeavor to cover up the debacle.

Tragically, I am not confused or surprised at all.

That comment in and of itself is a tragedy. I have a belief that humans are good, but, right now, in this time period (including a few hundred years back) many are too complacent, ignorant, prejudice or tribal to actually do anything, even when aware of crimes against humanity.

I am reminded of Socrates’s Allegory of the Cave. It was originally written down by Plato.2 Here is my version, originally posted here in February 2024. As noted it’s included in the epilogue of Paperolls & Cowboy Boots.3

Spoiler Alert: This story is told in the epilogue of “Paperdolls & Cowboy Boots” in much greater detail to another who valiantly tries to save others from the shadows of the cave.

As a reminder, picture a time about 400 BC. Imagine a few prisoners held in a dark, dingy cave.

The prisoners are bound so that they can’t see anything except the cave wall in front of them. There’s a large fire behind the prisoners. Occasionally, an object is held in front of the fire, the light of the fire projects a shadow on the wall. The only thing the prisoners ever see are shadows.

Think about these poor souls back in 400 BC, living in a cave their entire lives, only seeing those shadows. Eventually, the prisoners started playing a game guessing the names of the shadows.

Socrates offers some hope. One day, for some reason, one prisoner is released from bondage.

Imagine her moving her limbs from their confined position. The blood flowing through her legs and arms. Maybe it hurts. Picture her turning her head and seeing the fire for the first time and cowering in fear from the brightness. Socrates tells of her crawling on her hands and knees up the stairs and falling outside the cave. The light is too much. Too bright. Too painful. She crawls out of the cave and collapses.

A long time later, she can squint her eyes to see. Eventually she can fully open her eyes in the daylight.

She sees a flower, with dimension and color and smell. She explores and sees so many wonderful things. She is no longer afraid. She is euphoric. Everywhere she looks or walks, or runs is stunningly beautiful.

One day, she hears a songbird singing in a tree. She looks at the tree. She looks down at her path. She sees the shadow of the tree on the rock in her pathway. She realizes that when she was imprisoned in the cave, she saw shadows of these multidimensional, colorful trees. She saw the shadow of a bird and never heard the songs, or saw the colors, or witnessed the miracle of a bird in flight.

It dawns on her that her entire life, up to the time she was released, she thought the shadows were real.

She remembers there are still prisoners in the cave.

She feels such love for them. She must go back to tell them. To free them. She must tell them that there are colors, singing and flying birds, scent filled flowers, and a blue sky that frequently has gorgeous white clouds floating above us. She must tell them that there are things she can touch and feel, see, smell, even taste.

She must tell them about dancing in the light.

She skips back to the cave and exuberantly exclaims to those still imprisoned.

“These are shadows! Wait ‘til you see and touch and feel the real flowers! Flowers have an amazing scent that I can’t describe.” She tries to explain all the marvels outside the cave.

She tries to stand in front of them so they can see her. They flinch and close their eyes. She tries to touch a woman’s arm. The prisoner shrieks.

She doesn’t want to hurt them. They don’t understand.

She can’t explain something they’ve never experienced. She finally pleads for them to simply believe her. To follow her up the stairs and out of the cave.

No one moves. One of the prisoners exclaims that she is crazy. The prisoners’ shudder in fear. If anyone leaves the cave, they will go crazy. They tell her to sit down, come to her senses, and join in their guessing game.

She can’t. After seeing color and dimension and light, she can’t pretend that gray shadows are real.

She begins to leave, and one brave prisoner asks to join her. She gently helps this one out. Explaining that it takes time to adjust to the light and to not be afraid. They wait. Slowly the other prisoner realizes what has been said about light and color and dimension is true.

This new friend is free and dances with glee.

Sometime later, she tries to bring another prisoner to freedom. This time, this prisoner can’t adjust to the light. It’s too painful and runs back into the cave telling everyone that indeed, anyone who leaves the cave is crazy.

Occasionally, simply because she loves this colorful world so much, she courageously goes back into the cave. the prisoners cruelly spit hateful words to her. She simply states that she’s telling the truth. There’s a magnificent world outside the cave. She offers to help. She tells them they don’t even need to go with her. They just need courage to leave and realize it takes time to adjust. They’ll find their own glorious reality and life in the light.

Sometimes, some follow. Sometimes some leave on their own. They wait to adjust. Outside the cave is glorious. Words cannot even describe how different it is than staring at shadows on a wall.

Of course, sometimes being outside has challenges. Even pain. One can get stung by a bee or stub their toes, but overall, it’s a heavenly existence outside of the cave.

International Holocaust Remembrance Day

Today is the International Holocaust Remembrance Day. We must remember. And learn. And vow: Never again.

Each of us view events based on our own experiences and perceptions. As a teenager, I walked through Yad Vashem in Jerusalem. It took me almost five hours. I couldn’t speak until the next day.1

As a teenager, I knew humans’s cruelty and ability to inflict pain on others. I knew that it defies Darwin’s theory of evolution. In my experience the propagation of the species and protecting our offspring and the viability of the species was not present or even a remote consideration. As a teenager, I knew that some humans are simply evil and don’t care about humanity or the other humans in our species. Our species. Our group. Our brothers and sisters. The ones we work with to survive. I’d studied and tried to understand why some humans can be so so evil with one another.2

I never learned why.

I still don’t understand why humans can be so evil.

Simply because I don’t understand evil, doesn’t mean I don’t know it.

I know that at least once a minute, someone is sexually assaulted in the USA. RAINN statics3 say that every 9 minutes a child is sexually assaulted in the US.

I know those are the minimum stats. It’s worse. I know it. 4

If people can rape a child, they are capable of anything.

Each of us views events based on our own experiences and perceptions.

On this International Holocaust Remembrance Day, let us remember Anne Frank’s written words from July 15, 1944:

"In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart."

That’s my experience also. In spite of it all.

We must remember, and never let the Holocaust happen again. Never again.

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My last post about “Our Savage Species” was generally received with praise and thanks. However, I received a few, particularly from a stalwart paid subscriber that gave me pause.

Apologies to everyone on this list who gets it.

My pause wasn’t because the questions and insights were poignant. My pause was because my message, and subsequently many in the healing community’s messages have not been received or heard, or understood.

Hence, this message for those still not getting it: Child Abuse, particularly CSA is one of the most egregious crimes of our species.

Here is the statement from a paid subscriber that stopped me in my tracks:

To better understand the depth of the issue, we need more data1

Do we? Data would be nice, but we don’t need more numbers, testimonies and reporting to see the walking wounded amongst us, or the psychophants who suppress2 their humanity and robotically act with dominance, violence and perversion.

I responded succinctly with a quick, “The problem is that many victims of sexual assault do not report.” I sent links to a few of the posts I’ve written about reporting and why I know that the statics are low.”3. Even if an incident is reported, conviction is even less likely. Many victims are re-victimized during the interrogations and proceedings.4

My official message to victims/survivors on reporting:

I have officially stated to victims and survivors: It is up to you to decide if you wish to report. I’ve tried to convey the hazards as well as the help survivors can receive if they report. My number one priority is to the victim/survivor and not the the perpetrator. Yes, I would like to pay for their abhorrent behavior, but I’m not sure even jail time adequately punishes them for their soul murdering/attempted soul shattering actions.

I ended my response with, “I’m not part of the statics.”

He wrote back, “What? You wrote a whole book about it, 30 years ago.”

I explained that when I was a kid, I know that my neighbor tried to report it and was turned away by the police, the school, the school district, the Church, and the limited child wellness organizations that were available. I don’t know how many others tried to alert the authorities. I just know of one woman who valiantly tried to get assistance and help—to no avail.

I also referred him to the famous study from 20205, “Unfounded Sexual Assault: Women’s Experiences of Not Being Believed by the Police”.

Pull Your Head Out of the Sand

To those blissful souls who don’t have a clue, pull your head out of the sand6. The sand diving and denial might have been understandable 100 years ago, but not now. It’s past time. You must address this problem, for the survival or our species, for the children and for all of us.

Victims/Survivors:

To my beloved survivors, please keep healing. I know it’s hard, but you are still here. It’s not your fault. Overall life is authentically beautiful. As you heal, you will be more and more free.

Do it for you and all of us.

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It started on the last day of 2025, when Heather Cox Richardson (HCR) asked, “If you are comfortable writing it down, I’d love to see in the comments what you did this year to help preserve American democracy and what you hope for 2026. Let’s keep building our momentum.”

HCR’s request gave me pause.

Besides wearing pants in elementary school and attending a couple of protests last year, I’m not an activist. How could I respond to Heather Cox Richardson, when I haven’t done much? I don’t really want to be part of the silent majority. But, I also don’t want to spend too much time gazing into the abyss.1

I have often said, “My mormon roots go deep. I only want to give 10% 2 of my time to this ongoing battle against childhood sexual abuse.

Freedom

I thought of Karen Fisher talking to me about being free, free from the shame and imprisoning effects of my own CSA. We carefully plotted out everything I needed to do to heal and recover. It was a daunting list. I felt a bit overwhelmed. Karen paused and said, “You will be free.”

I envisioned a caterpillar transforming to a butterfly.

Democracy

I thought of what I learned in elementary school about democracy, the republic and the USA’s revolution. The colonists got sick of paying high taxes and not having a voice. Their slogan was something like, “No taxation without representation.” I have a rudimentary knowledge of democracy,3 but I know it’s about the people. All the people. The Declaration of Independence even has a huge header: “We the people...”

The basic principle: the people are free and equal. The politicians are elected by the people to represent the people. Yes, I’m clear. It’s for the people, us, all of us.

Back to Heather Cox Richardson’s inquiry. What will I do? Beside waving a sign around that says, “Love one another” not much. I was still contemplating what I could do and how I was going to respond to HCR’s question when…

The US invaded Venezuela.4

Boom

I thought of my father’s disdain for War. He knew of its evil. In WWII, he emerged as a decorated war hero. An Army Ranger, a Sargent, who lead his men through the jungles of Okinawa to take back to the South Pacific during WWII. 5

Then I recalled my stunned response when G.H. Bush, ignited “Operation Deseret Storm” I wrote about it in the first edition of Paperdolls.

I likened war, and even the denial of war, to CSA and incest. With an ironic twist on the denial many profess about incest and Childhood Sexual Abuse (CSA).6

If we didn’t abuse children would we even need a military?

I thought of Linea Butler’s compelling posts, “If we didn’t abuse children would we even need a military?”7

Renee Good, a US Citizen was killed by ICE

Then, a stunning explosion, rocking me more than an inherent “a-ha” or an insightful “boom” moment: Renee Good, a US Citizen was killed by ICE. I watched the video. Stunned. I read Waylon Lewis’ (Editor-in-Chief, Medium), compelling piece, “She was a widow they made her child an Orphan”8

In this moving piece, Mr. Lewis asks, “What is wrong with us?”

I don’t know what is wrong with us. I have a strong hunch that if we alleviated child abuse from humanity it could cure the frequency and severity of our violent and savage actions.

Life is sacred. Human life is particularly sacred. This is a tragedy.9

Back to the original question from Heather Cox Richardson (HCR):

What am I going to do to help preserve American democracy? My goal is to help bring words of encouragement, support and hope to preserve the sanctity of human life. Children’s lives. Adult lives. Elderly lives, of all colors shapes and sizes.

Three (3) Profound Quotes:

For those not fully grasping the gravity of Childhood Sexual Abuse, here are 3 poignant quotes:

1. “It has been suggested that, given the vast array of crime and violence which can be traced to those who were sexually abused as children, child sexual abuse represents a greater threat to this country’s future than cancer or nuclear war. Hyperbole? Time will tell.”
   --David Heckler, as quoted by Carol Scott, in Paperdolls & Cowboy Boots.

2. “Adverse childhood experiences are the single greatest unaddressed public health threat facing our nation today.”
   —--Dr. Robert Beck, cited by Dr. Nadine Burke Harris

3. “If we didn’t abuse our children, would we even have a military?”
   —cited by cited by Linnea Butler

A quote a hope (I have this memorized, I suggest everyone take this to heart):

“When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it--always.”

― Mahatma Gandhi10

Recently I was at one of SAPREA’s dinner celebrations. I met a man in charge of a domestic abuse clinic in Provo. He said, “I’m here because I didn’t know how common CSA1 is for those who end up in horrific adult domestic abuse situations.”2

I validated and supported his realization. Later he said, “One of the saddest things I’ve realized is that adults who are recovering from complex trauma, have lost the ability to envision a future for themselves. We have workshops on visualizing how you want your world to be and those workshops fall flat. They can’t even dream.”

That chilled me. I had that also. I’ve heard that from numerous other survivors also. For some, it would be easier to visual themselves turning into a tree, than dreaming of a better life with safety, shelter, love, and slivers of joy.

One of my favorite coping mechanisms, that has severed me well, has been to set goals and achieve them. In my most painful periods, a “to do” list has distracted me from me. In John Bradshaw’s words I became a “human doing” not a “human being.” 3

It’s easier to do than to feel.

Dreams, Goals and Resolutions

With a caution to not become a human doing, but consistently check in with yourself and nurture your own authentic humanness (or human beingness), I ask that you dream. Let yourself think, plan and dream. Don’t become a slave to your goals or dreams. Let yourself dream. Then, evaluate if you want to purse those dreams or goals.

“…dream. And not make dreams your master.”

One of my favorite stanza’s of Joni Mitchell’s song, “If” is:

If you can dream
And not make dreams your master
If you can think
And not make intellect your game
If you can meet
With triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same

I support you, my beloved survivors in dreaming! Dream. Make Resolutions. Set goals, just don’t be a slave to them. You have the right and ability to change your mind—anytime. This is your life.

More on Joni Mitchell’s Adaptation of Rudyard Kipling’s ‘If’

Joni Mitchell’s adaptation of “If” came out in 2007. The lyrics went right to my heart. For me, it’s about my life. When Paperdolls was published, there was an onslaught of publicity, celebration, hero worship (of me and my co-author) then came the backlash and ignorant DARVO attacks. Almost all survivors I’ve met have experienced it. Abusers and fearful ignorant naysayers lob attacks4

For this New Year’s Eve, I hope you dream. Dare to be more of yourself. As Joni writes:

If you can fill the journey
Of a minute
With sixty seconds worth of wonder and delight
Then
The Earth is yours
And Everything that’s in it
But more than that
I know
You’ll be alright
You’ll be alright.5

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I was uncomfortable with all that publicity. I’m just me with my combo of qualities and weaknesses, but I was free of the toxic shame of the sexual abuse of my childhood. My therapist convinced me that all my writings, journals, poetry and lyrics would help other victims/survivors of childhood sexual abuse. Before Paperdolls was published, I didn’t fully2 grasp the wide spread atrocity of childhood sexual abuse.

My solace with all the publicity was that possibly the sexual abuse of children would cease. If it didn’t stop, my hope was that our society would realize its egregious effects and impose hefty penalties to perpetrators and offer extensive support and assistance to victims and survivors.

On this Christmas Eve, my grown up Christmas wish is that no more lives will be torn apart. Hunter Hamlyn3 has graciously let me gift her version of “Grown Up Christmas List” to you, to remember, “Right can win” and we can “heal a hurting human soul.”

Grown Up Christmas List, courtesy of Hunter Hamlyn

To my beloved survivors: You are not alone. You can heal. Remember it today and always. Merry Christmas.4

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I enjoy the beach and watching the waves roll into the shore and how they rescend back out to the ocean. I’ve tried to “catch” a wave on a surf board, but I’ve never been able to hold onto one for long.

After our friend at the Assisted Living facility passed, I thought about how sometimes people in our lives are like that. A wave crashing to shore for a moment that can’t be held long.

When we think we’ve said good-bye to a retreating wave, it’s nice to remember that it can come back in surprising and glorious ways.

A gift from my Mother’s and Grandparent’s Wave

Four years ago, Olaf and I walked out of the house.1 I noticed an older truck parked in front, with a young couple pointing at my house. Sometimes people stop and look at the cables or colors of this old house.

I walked down the stairs, then the couple smiled at me. The young man, rolled down his window2, and said, “My wife’s grandmother used to live here.”

I was quite surprised. My grandparents lived here. She had her grandmother’s journal, with my address on the inside cover. She carefully handed the journal to me. When I saw her grandmother’s name, everything clicked for me. Her grandmother, Ingrid, was my mother’s best friend, and cousin. I knew Ingrid’s’s story well. My grandfather was able to get his family back to America before the Nazi’s occupied Norway. Ingrid’s family didn’t get out.

After the war, my mother heard Ingrid’s painful story. Ingrid fell in love with a teenage German boy. A soldier. The enemy. Ingrid’s family tried to protect her, but Ingrid was ostracized by her neighbor’s and friends. She fled the country. And my grandparents took her in....

I never knew. My grandfather nor my mother never told me she lived here, until she could find her way in this foreign land.

My mother’s dearest cousin’s granddaughter--came to the house because her grandmother loved my mom and her parents so much. A wave returned after 75 years.

I’m grateful I know another aspect of my grandparents’ compassion. I’m so grateful this young couple came to our house.

Another visitor

Yesterday, a woman who was in one of my sexual abuse survivors’ groups dropped by. I knew this woman well in the early 90s. When Paperdolls was picked up by the national publisher she traveled with me to their offices. Special arrangements were made for me to meet Gloria Steinem and personally thank her for endorsing the book.

I considered this woman a close friend. Yet, after Karen Fisher died, I threw myself into work and we lost touch.

Yesterday, when she first approached, she was uncertain I would remember her. As soon as she started talking I instantly recognized her. Of course I remembered her! What a gift! Gone for a time, but not forever.

Another survivor who has carved our her own uniquely beautiful life.

There are many of us. Please remember, you are not alone. You can do this. You can heal and grow, and create your own authentic life.

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Last night, I built a fire, and remembered one of my favorite poems, by JRR Tolkien:3

I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.

RECORDING by Hunter Hamlyn

I’m not advocating sitting around waiting for people to approach or come back, but sometimes, gifts of connection and re-connection can be given when we least expect them. Sometimes good bye isn’t forever. And sometimes we are connected with those we cannot see.4

Olaf here, I’m April’s Yorkie. And, I lost a friend this week.

I too visit the Assisted Living place with our human mummy, April. My little brother, okay, my younger brother Henry got a lot of attention last summer when he helped “flip the switch” and give one of the non-verbal dementia patients a moment of clarity.1 But, I visit there as much as Henry.

Since I’m so much smaller than my younger brother, I help with my friends who are struggling when their bodies start to falter. My human mummy lets me sit with them, and I comfort my friends simply by being there.

Last week, one of my favorites was struggling. I sat with him for several hours. I comforted him if he moaned or cried out in pain. He pet me often. Here is a picture of me with him:

My human, wants to protect my friend and his privacy, so you only get to see me at his side. His hand is holding me. He died two days later.

He was a good friend.

There are no ordinary people

Sometimes humans seem to forget that there are no ordinary people. I never forget. Even if the person is old and frail. Even if they can’t remember my name. I know that everyone is unique and special. My human mummy, April, read a quote by C.S. Lewis to remind people struggling that their lives are important:

“There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat....it is with the awe and the circumspection proper….that we should conduct all of our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people.” 2

Please Don’t Forget

Please don’t forget that you are extraordinary, valuable and sacred. Even if your physical body is failing. If you’ve survived Childhood Sexual Abuse, or other significant pain or trauma, please remember that you are not permanently flawed. You might be wounded and need to heal, but healing is possible. You are irreplaceable.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Tonight, my human was walking with us and the sun was setting. We paused and gazed at the golden sky.

Our human mummy whispered “Nothing Gold Can Stay.”3

Notice the beauty for it is temporary. Never forget the sacredness of your own soul.

Puppy Love is a section of Paperdolls.Today Each section has ties to healing and joy. Our goal is to help lighten the load for anyone struggling with pain or healing from trauma. To subscribe/unsubscribe to a specific section please follow substack’s instructions

A friend relayed his brother’s question, “Why does everyone in our family have to get angry before we do anything?”

I smiled at the truth of the words and the brother’s question.

Anger can be a tremendous motivator to take action.

The question above isn’t simply for one family. It’s most of us. Many of us need to get fed up with the dysfunction, the abuse, the mistreatment to take action.

Anger is shunned in our society, especially for women. An angry woman is a bitch. 1

From my Mormon roots, I’ve struggled with anger. I misconstrued a well known scripture that contention is of the devil.2 In my shame, I blatantly ignored the scriptures teaching about Jesus’s anger with the merchants selling at the temple.3 4

You see, even Jesus got mad: a healthy anger.5

Anger arises when boundaries are violated.

“Anger typically arises when personal or professional boundaries are violated. Expressing it can be a sign of healthy emotions, indicating self-awareness and self-respect.” (emphasis added)6

During my healing from the ravages of childhood sexual abuse,7 I went through a stage when I was madder than angry.8 I was angry almost all the time. I had to fight to find peace and struggled to even see a joyful moment in my daily existence.

Spoiler Alert: I got through it. I made it. I used my anger to make foundational changes in many aspects of my life. My habits, my awareness, my thinking, and I changed many of the people with whom I interacted with on a daily basis. I changed my work and built a loving, psychic or spiritual family.

Anger is still not my easiest feeling or emotion. But, I know I’ve cultivated solid skills in expressing anger. I’m not always perfect with it, because it’s a skill that thankfully I don’t use often.

Feelings, especially anger, can be frightening. We aren’t robots. Feelings open us to the beauty of the exquisite human experience. Use your anger9 to make the changes you want for yourself and your own uniquely beautiful life.