Whispered Fragments

Whispered fragments for the ones who feel too much and explain too often. These are short truths that are easy to read and hard to forget. No context required. Just come as you are.

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Sometimes my art comes from joy. Sometimes it comes from hurt. Either way, it’s where I put what I can’t say out loud.

My Art Page

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I’m still teaching my body that the war is over.

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Healing is teaching your body it’s safe in moments that feel anything but.

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Healing from trauma is learning to trust a world that once proved it couldn’t be trusted.

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Trauma taught my body to shout. Healing is teaching it to whisper again.

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I don’t need a crowd. I just need one person who sees me.

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I survived. That’s not a compliment; it’s a warning.

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My body remembers things I never said out loud.

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Some wounds teach you to flinch before you’re even touched.

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Family isn’t who hurt me and got away with it. It’s who stayed, saw the mess, and didn’t run.

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Not every mom was a safe place. Some of us learned survival, not softness. We were raised by silence, shame, or storms. We didn’t get lullabies, we got landmines. So when the world says “you only get one mom,” we nod quietly, knowing ours wasn’t the kind they mean.

And still some of us became the safe ones. We broke the cycle. We chose tenderness. We gave our kids what we never got. So if you’re one of those kids, you don’t have to pretend. Your truth is valid. Your grief is real. And if you became the safe kind of mom then you deserve the tribute.

l.a.h

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I’m healing. But I still want to throw glitter at my enemies. Gently. (maybe)

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Therapy helped. So did muting half my contacts.

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I’m not rude. I’m just healed enough to say no.

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My trust issues have trust issues.

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I’ve stopped explaining myself. Now I just blink slowly.

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The pressure to explain what hurts can feel heavier than the hurt itself.