There’s a child in each of us. For some, that child was playful and curious, nurtured in warmth, and allowed to bloom. For many others, that child remains wounded - not because love was absent, but because truth was not welcome. And when truth isn’t welcome, love cannot fully grow.

We often speak about trauma as something dramatic, explosive, or loud. But some of the deepest wounds come not from overt violence, but from the quiet suffocation of our authentic voice. Not being heard. Not being believed. Not being allowed. It’s hard to read this and not picture a child, eyes wide with the trust only children can have, offering up a fragile truth and then watching it crumble in the face of a father’s scorn, a teacher’s mocking tone, or a culture that scoffs at tears.