It wasn’t straight after my marriage ended that the real trauma hit. It was months later. In those early weeks, the practical chaos left no room to feel — the paperwork, the logistics, the day-to-day survival with two small children. I was in what I call the “numb zone.” On the outside, I looked fine. On the inside, every night once the kids were asleep, I collapsed into freeze mode.
Sometimes I sat frozen on the sofa, staring into space. Other nights I paced the house, fog filling my mind so I couldn’t even make the smallest decisions. My body felt paralysed, my breath shallow, my thoughts racing. Some nights I truly wondered if I’d make it through until morning.
At the time, I thought something was “wrong” with me — physically, mentally, or both. I had no idea these were the delayed effects of trauma. Research shows trauma responses often surface weeks or months after the initial shock, once the body senses it finally has space to “process.” For me, that processing came as nightly paralysis.
There was no roadmap. No manual. Each new revelation from my broken marriage was like stumbling over another hidden bomb in a field of rubble. Every day felt like walking on broken glass.
But the moment I finally whispered the words, “I’m not okay” — that was the turning point. Healing doesn’t start with perfection. It starts with honesty. I wish I had realised it sooner, but I stayed too long in the numb zone, not even aware I was stuck there. Denial was part of my survival, until something finally cracked and pushed me into the next phase: total meltdown.
And that’s the truth: healing, for me, has not been glossy or peaceful like it so often appears on social media. It has been raw. Messy. Painful. It has meant stripping away the self-defences that once kept me alive, so I could finally grow again. It has meant loneliness, vulnerability, and nights of endless tears.
For years, it didn’t even feel like healing. I thought I was broken forever. That nothing was working. That I wasn’t getting anywhere. Then one day, the realisation came: this is healing. Not clean, not shiny — but real. Healing means pruning. And only after we are cut back can we begin to blossom.
But slowly, life returned. Freedom returned. Purpose returned. I found anchors: friends who checked in, my church community, daily grounding techniques, gentle exercise, and eventually therapy. Each small step was a brick laid in the rebuilding of my life.
And here’s what I’ve learned: healing isn’t a straight line, and it isn’t quick. But it is worth it. Because what waits on the other side is a freer, stronger, lighter version of yourself — no longer crushed under the weight you didn’t even realise you were carrying.
Healing is messy. But it is also beautiful.
💛 Have you experienced that moment — frightening, uncertain, yet strangely enlightening — when you finally realised you weren’t okay? For me, it was the first flicker of light in the darkness. I’d love to hear your story. Share in the comments below 🌸
👉 And if you’re in that place right now — foggy, frozen, unsure what to do — I’ve created a simple, gentle guide to help. It’s called The Gentle Reset: A 7-Day Low-Overwhelm Healing Routine.
Think of it as a soft starting point: one tiny step each day to remind your body, mind, and heart that you are safe.
✨ Download it free today via the Products page on my website.
May you find strength for today and peace for tonight. Love always, MumDoc 💛
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