The Words That Came Later

The Words That Came Later

I’ve spoken at conferences and taught online and privately with clients for years

— often from a place of knowledge, structure, understanding, and strength.

What I didn’t always speak was from was my heart.

Not because it wasn’t there,

but because it needed more time to feel safe.

For years, I journaled.

I documented quietly, privately.

Some days it wasn’t full sentences , just

fragments.

Pieces of thoughts.

Stick Figures.

A feeling without language.

A question without an answer.

I wrote what I could, when I could

Not to publish.

But to survive.

To make sense of what felt confusing,

draining, or unnamed.

I dug for answers.

I searched for explanations for

experiences that didn’t translate easily

the kind of things you only understand if you’ve lived them.

There was a season where survival

required clarity, composure, and distance.

I learned how to articulate patterns,

explain trauma, and guide others through healing from a steady,

grounded place

even while parts of me were still finding their footing.

Knowledge gave me language before my

body had rest.

Teaching gave me structure while my

nervous system was still learning peace.

And that wasn’t wrong.

It was necessary.

But the words I’m writing now didn’t exist back then.

They couldn’t.

They were all balled up inside.

Some truths don’t arrive while you’re

surviving.

They come later through healing,

faith, peace

and distance.

They come when the body no longer needs armor to speak.

This blog was built on pieces ,

fragments that slowly began to connect.

Thoughts that matured with time.

Feelings that finally had room to be understood.

What once lived only in journals, margins, and quiet moments

eventually came together.

Not all at once.

But enough.

I didn’t find peace in a single moment.

I found it in pieces —

as parts of me slowly realized they were safe enough to exhale.

And as that safety settled, something unexpected happened:

My voice softened.

The urgency faded.

The need to explain disappeared.

What remained was truth.

This blog exists because of that shift.

It’s a space for the words that came later —

the ones I didn’t yet have language for while I was surviving.

Words shaped by reflection, faith, and lived understanding.

Words that grew from fragments into something whole.

Here,

I’ll write about healing as it’s lived

not linear,

not rushed,

and not performed.

About faith as an anchor.

About nervous system awareness.

About healing from relationship abuse,

About boundaries, identity,

and the quiet work of becoming whole again.

If you’ve ever carried pieces of a story you couldn’t yet explain…

If you’ve ever known something was wrong but couldn’t name it…

If you’ve ever trusted that clarity would come later —

You’re not behind.

You’re right on time.

I am glad you are here, & I hope you stay around

for what's unfolding.