To the Woman Who Survived Childhood Trauma

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You were just a little girl.
 

You should have been safe.
You should have been cherished.
You should have been free to play, to rest, to be held in warm arms that asked nothing of you but your joy.

 

Instead, you learned to scan every room for danger.
 

You learned to read moods before you could read books.
 

You learned to stay small. Stay quiet. Stay invisible.
 

Or worse—perform your worth so maybe someone would care.

 

And now?
You’re still carrying her.
The little one. The one who never got to just be a child.

 

But here’s what I need you to know:

She’s not a burden.
She’s your compass.
She is the reason you’re so strong, so tender, so wise.
 

She is the part of you that still believes in love,
even after all she’s seen.

 

This retreat is a place for her.
A place for you.
To grieve what was lost.
To rage at what was taken.
To finally feel the safety and softness you should have always known.

 

You don’t have to be the protector here.
 

You don’t have to be the fixer.
 

You can be held. Fully. Tenderly. Without question.

 

You survived hell.
Now let yourself rest.
Let yourself receive.
 

Let yourself come home to the childhood you deserved—
even if it begins now, with us.