Hi, I’m April!

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About My Approach to Asks I try to answer even difficult or hurtful asks with compassion because that’s the tone I want for this blog. I assume good faith, knowing that if an ask wasn’t in good faith, responding kindly still denies them the reaction they were hoping for.

If an ask genuinely upsets me, I block and delete it. I only respond to the ones I feel safe answering. So if you see me reply to something that seems harsh, know that I’m okay and I’m choosing to handle it this way intentionally.

Optional Support (a couple people have asked): [Ko-fi link] | [My Fidget Toy Business] (never expected, always appreciated!)

Healing often doesn’t always feel like relief.

Sometimes it feels like you're finally getting to grieve.

Feeling worse in a safe place doesn’t mean the safe place is wrong.

It often means your nervous system finally believes the danger has passed.

Both of those feelings are completely normal, anon. Along with any mixture of feelings about it, or some combo of the two or an in-between.

You're allowed to feel whatever you're feeling about it, and it's valid if it changes. (Even if it changes every day.)

It's normal that things might not get better when you leave an abusive situation. For many people, things actually get harder at first. Being in a safer place can give your body permission to feel everything it had to suppress just to survive.

That doesn’t mean leaving was a mistake. It means your nervous system is finally exhaling.

Trauma doesn’t end when the danger ends. And even if it feels worse right now, it’s still good that you got out. Getting out creates the possibility for things to get better.

I don’t see beauty in abuse.

For me, surviving wasn’t something miraculous or poetic. It was what happened when there were no other options. Endurance born out of desperation doesn’t feel inspiring to me. It just feels necessary.

When I think about strength, I don’t see it as something abuse gave me. I was strong because that’s who I am. What happened to me didn’t create that strength. It only tested it.

I know some people find meaning, beauty, or growth in their experiences, and if that’s how you cope, that’s valid. We all survive in the ways we need to. That framing just isn’t what fits for me.

I don’t feel grateful for surviving. I don’t need to turn what I lived through into something meaningful to justify it.

My strength belongs to me, not to the harm I endured.

If you learned to stay small to stay safe, it makes sense that taking up space feels uncomfortable now.

Your trauma is valid if you were never physically harmed, but you were constantly afraid, walking on eggshells, or bracing for something to go wrong.

Self-blame is one of the heaviest burdens survivors carry.

These thoughts don’t make you weak. They’re the brain’s way of trying to make sense of what happened. But that doesn’t make them true.

Being triggered doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means something touched a wound that still needs gentleness.

What I’ve been through has affected me. It has left marks. It has changed how I move through the world.

I don’t deny that. I don’t minimize it. But I am more than the things that happened to me.

My experiences have shaped parts of me, not shrunk me. They explain my responses without defining my limits. I am allowed to carry the impact without letting it reduce me to my pain.

I can acknowledge what I’ve survived while still getting to be me and it doesn't claim my future.

What happened matters. It just doesn’t get to decide who I am.

It is not your job to protect someone else’s reputation.

If telling the truth makes them look bad, that is about their actions. It’s not on you. You are not required to lie, soften, or stay quiet just to keep someone comfortable or respectable.

You get to tell your story (if you want to).

You get to name what happened.

Choosing honesty is not being cruel.

And yes, protecting yourself is different. You are allowed to lie, withhold, or stay silent if it keeps you safe. Your safety comes first. But protecting them at the cost of yourself was never your responsibility.