TIME HEALS OLD WOUNDS

When I was sixteen-years-old, I experienced a traumatic event. Instead of justice and support from the only person who knew about it – my mother – it was swept under the carpet and promptly forgotten. I won’t go into details of the trauma because reliving the moment isn’t what this post is about. It’s about the aftermath.

My mother never spoke about that day or even acknowledged something bad had happened to me. It never occurred to her that I would need or benefit from psychological treatment. Her lack of support and radio silence on the matter made me feel ashamed of myself. I was already a shy teenager with self-esteem issues and this trauma left me untrusting of others and disconnected to my peers.

The emotional trauma of the experience – the helplessness and fear – left long-lasting consequences that carried through into my adulthood.

I struggled to trust anyone and because of that, I refused to allow people in. I kept friends at an arm’s length. No one really knew me. Those who thought they did, saw the false façade I portrayed to the world.

People saw me as a confident, driven and outgoing girl but really, deep down I was a sad and broken person. I was steadfast in not letting anyone think I was a victim of circumstances. It was my way of hiding all the shame I felt inside.

A decade after that day, I finally got help at the behest of my husband. I sought psychological treatment, talked about the trauma and all the self-inflicted damage that resulted.

If it hadn’t been for my husband’s insistence, I would have likely continued on living but not really enjoying life. I would have struggled with unchecked depression and anxiety, continued to close myself off from family and friends and probably would have made for a dismal mother. Fortunately, I relearned how to trust again.

Last night, I had dinner with a girlfriend who has known me for twenty-two years. This person has known me since the day I arrived as a sixteen-year-old girl at her high school. While talking about the struggles her teenage son was experiencing, I told her about my trauma and how I wished my mother had stepped up and got me the help I needed back then. The story spilled from my mouth. I hadn’t thought twice about telling it.

She was shocked to discover a part of my life unknown to her. And to be honest, I was slightly shocked with how open and honest I was able to be about it.

At some point in my road to recovery, I had healed from the trauma. Unknowingly, I released myself from the shackles of shame and embarrassment. I no longer felt like a victim.

Time has healed some of these wounds but I think more importantly, having a safe space where I could talk to a trusted person helped immensely. I’m glad I accepted the help. I only wish I had done it sooner.

Is there something that’s weighing you down? Could you find the courage to reach out for help? It may be the turning point in your life, the step towards positive change. You’ll never know otherwise.

Copyright © 2021, KN J Tales and Snippets. All rights reserved.

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THE DARK BATTLE

The threadbare vessel
Struggles to contain
The surging emotions
Bulging and pulsating
Of anger and despair

Battle after battle
Against dark tendrils
That seeps and weaves
Overwhelming in its power
Suffocating in its hold

Threatening to consume
Wanting to destroy
Coaxing the ugly
Whisperings of shame
Swallowing silent screams

I fight these demons
That plagues my mind
And taints my soul
Alone in my quest
I pray for redemption

Copyright © 2021, KN J Tales and Snippets. All rights reserved.


My mental health took a big hit during the start of the COVID pandemic. My anxiety was at an all time high and I was on the verge of spiralling into depression. I wrote this during those dark days when I was overwhelmed with fear and struggling with tough lockdowns. I’m in a better place now so please don’t worry about me.

This poem has been in my drafts for a long time because I was scared of revealing a vulnerable piece of me. But to the hell with it, this is me.

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LEASHING THE BLACK DOG

Note: Life is hectic. I barely have time to scrape together a decent post for my blog, so it’s rare for me to enter writing competitions. However, upon seeing this month’s writing prompts for Furious Fiction, a story immediately came to mind and I wanted to write it. I share this story with you.


Thunder rumbles. Grey clouds blocks out the sun’s golden rays, darkening the sky and bringing forth a coldness that seeps to the bone. The wind picks up, blowing through tree branches, howling its warning. My eyes scan upwards, noting the turn of the tide. The hair on my neck stands up, prickles in fear. A cold sweat dampens my brow and my stomach churns with apprehension. It’s here. I can sense its foreboding presence.

Scanning the horizon, my eyes land on the ferocious beast as it stalks forward, taking calculated steps, eyes pinned on its prey. As it closes the gap, I can see his snarl, revealing razor-sharp teeth. The Black Dog emits a low and menacing growl. I know he wants to lunge and sink his teeth into me, to subdue and control me.

My heart races, my palms sweat, fear threatens to flood my mind. “Stop!” I force myself to take deep breaths. I won’t let my anxiety overcome and send me into a foetal position. I have trained for the next attack. Standing still in front of the door, I guard my post. A lone sentinel. The only protector to my precious soul, tucked safely behind that door.

Did I miss the warning signs? Did I become complacent? What triggered his advance? I rack my brain for the answers, but it matters little as the beast breaches all of my defences. One by one, the Black Dog smashes through, its leathery skin immune to the surrounding destruction.

I have a choice. To run and be resigned as its victim once more or grab the leash and regain control of this wayward Black Dog. As my eyes narrow on the reason I am constantly on guard, I decide this Dog’s reign of terror has run its course. I am stronger. I am healthier. I am wiser.

Keeping a tight grip on the leash, I approach the beast with a plan in mind. With each step forward, I feel myself growing braver as the Black Dog starts to cower. I stand tall, face him with unwavering eyes, and with the full force of my strength, I snap the leash on his collar. He struggles against my hold and I strain to contain the weight of his pull. Eventually, the beast releases a weak growl before he collapses on the ground, defeated. I lead him to the cage. I am exhausted but happy.

I lean against my door, thankful to have been successful in my guarding. Glossy tears fall freely down my cheeks. I bask in the immense relief. Albeit temporary.

Copyright © 2020, KN J Tales and Snippets. All rights reserved.

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