Ever get triggered by the conversation of others. Blinding you into the past you lived in. The environment. The smells. The struggles. The stresses. The loss and the misunderstanding. How do I tell my story with in a space to be heard? When will someone just listen and try to understand me and hold me through the past? No one. It’s me. Left to be branded with the memory of it all with no safety. No one gets it and the one who does, exists in a place of unknowing. While unknowing.











