Picking Up the Pieces / Unchained

Pearl is a survivor (and learning to be thriver and joy based) of sexual (and other) abuses throughout her childhood that began while she was still in diapers. She was essentially sex trafficked for several years from the age of 3 or 4 years old and was also forced to participate in child sexually abusive material during that era. Following is her bio in 7 stanzas.

Picking Up the Pieces / Unchained

Staring into darkness, watching shadows fall,
empty heartbeats echo down the dark and endless hall.
Starry dreams are crumbling, crashing quietly to the ground,
only to be trampled on then yearning to be found.

Fractured psyche, broken trust, leaving only fear,
Shredded heart, silent screams, crying without tears.
All the times, all the lies, all the damned illusions –
‘Loving’ people cast my chains with all their damn perversions.

Where’d it start? Who can tell? Does it really matter?
The time has passed, it’s moving on, having left the tatters.
And now’s it’s time to let it go, drop it to the floor;
Do what it takes to stop the bleed, blocking out the core.

So dark descends and night has come to take me in it’s folds,
And deep inside now I know there’s nothing left to hold.
That one way mirror finally cracked, a million tiny pieces
Perhaps in time, a two way mirror may rise from all the pieces.

In time came marriage masquerading as love,
for his dysfunction called to my self-loathing.
And when God’s whisper became greater than the threats,
I let Him lead me out. It was time to mend.

Been picking up the pieces with much hope, tumult and doubt
Just trying to figure out how to make it all count.
Mosaics have beauty when they’re put together right
and Stained glass glows gently if it forgives the night.

Years go by and hell still lingers, imprinted in my mind,
but something greater has displaced its stature and I find,
Faith holds on ‘til Grace declares: “They will NOT win, I prevail”.
Their chains are breaking because I’m learning, I AM worthy. LOVE prevails.

I can’t thank You enough, Lord and Savior Jesus Christ

Is Happiness A Choice?

Author: A Dear Survivor
April 12, 2022

    This, I Believe

Over 10 years ago, NPR had a radio show called “This, I Believe.” This segment focused on written essays from listeners who were stating their stance on something they believed in. It was incredibly inspiring, but it also encouraged listeners to broaden their point of view to hear and understand someone else’s opinion. Below, I’ve written my own “This, I Believe” statement about something that can often be considered controversial:

    Is Happiness a Choice?

Having been a circle of protection to survivors of sexual and physical abuse, human trafficking, and other traumas, I believe happiness is a choice. Persevering against the odds stacked against them, these survivors have risen from the ashes because they chose to invest in their own happiness. One recurring observation I often hear when a survivor publicly shares their story is: “I would’ve never known they were a survivor because they’re just so full of joy!” Every morning, these individuals wake up and are haunted by their horrific pasts. They are faced with the decision of whether they are going to choose to linger in the darkness of their trauma or whether they’re going to choose the warmth of happiness – and by no means is that decision an easy one.

It is incredibly easy for anyone who has endured trauma to any extent to linger in those dark corner shadows where they won’t ever have to face what’s keeping them there. But the choice to be happy? That choice is one of the most difficult ones they have to make on their healing journey. When a person chooses to expose all those dark and scary places, they prove that they’re no longer afraid of what awaits when they open the drapes. It’s like when spring finally comes after a long winter, and they can finally open the windows, let in the fresh air, take a deep, cleansing breath, and allow themselves to begin sweeping up the settled dust and cobwebs.

I personally went through my own healing journey from the years of trauma I endured that resulted in multiple mental health concerns. After one final breakdown, where depression and anxiety left me on the ground, a shattered mess of hopelessness, questioning if I was strong enough to keep going, I realized that I needed to play an active role in my recovery to find true healing. It was no longer enough for me to solely rely on my weekly therapy sessions and my prescription medication. With the help of my therapist, I found it was most beneficial to start every morning making the conscious choice to choose happiness and appreciate the little things around me. I opened my eyes and found joy in the turkeys and deer as they walked through the backyard, in the sunrise over the golden cross that stands glowing high above the Cathedral on my drive to work, and in the sunsets as the burnt orange rays of warmth came streaking through my bedroom window in the summertime. Maybe that’s more of a testament to my personal growth, but similar practices are mirrored in the courageous and strong individuals I’ve had the honor of knowing and loving. Surely, if a survivor of something as horrific as human trafficking, torture, assault, etc., can open their eyes and choose their own happiness every morning, anyone can. This, I believe.

Today, I Wept…


Today I wept…again…as I signed a receipt from an inmate of prison with a history of abusing others. He sends us sacrificial gifts in his journey of recovery. These are not out of “penance” for his brokenness but out of joy that places exist for healing of those like him and for those he harmed long ago. No one was there for him as a little boy to hear his silent scream.

My mommy heart always makes me stop when I see his gifts and take a deep breath. Often little boys and girls who grow up to wound others were wounded by others themselves. I stop and pray for the tiny lives out there needing a loving, listening home. I beg God to place them in my way or another’s to show a gentle touch, a listening ear, a whisper of joy and worth in who they are. I’m so humbled by his precious gifts. Our pain and our brokenness break God’s heart as He loves unconditionally.

Jet-lagged, I woke early this morning to sit in the darkness of my living room and pray for the day. Take these words as a love letter. Mother Teresa said, “I’m a tiny pencil in the hand of a writing God sending a love letter to the world.” I’m no Mother Teresa, but my hope is this: Whether you read this from a cozy chair with your morning cup of tea; from your kitchen overflowing with dirty dishes and a herd of munchkins at your feet; from a lofty, ivory tower imparting knowledge to the world; or just from a bunk bed in a cell staring at four walls, I pray you come to understand that our hidden worries are known, and we’re loved by our Creator, worthy even in our messes and broken places, or from our comfy homes or offices.

The ancient truth which changes individuals and cultures is that we are stronger, more loving, and better able to navigate sorrow or joy when we intentionally choose to be a circle of protection and community of safety to each other. The key is knowing we are all alike whether learning from a prison cell, from our own mistakes, or others’. Humility binds us together. I welcome the gift of the penitent. Help us God to all be penitent, intentional, and in humility, consider others better than ourselves. This lesson comes from “the least of these,” from four walls of a prison cell, and a broken little boy, now a man, who shares sacrificially to heal others in ways he never experienced. God help us learn from him!