For 27 years, my life was defined by a reality many people only see in movies but for me, it was the air I breathed. I lived in the shadow of mental illness, trauma, and abuse.
I’m starting this blog because it’s time to tell the truth. Not for pity, and not to dwell on the darkness that was once my life, but to shed light on a cycle that is often misunderstood.
The Ripple Effect of Silence
One thing I’ve learned is that while mental illness isn’t a virus, it carries a heavy, undeniable ripple effect. It never stays confined to just one person.
For 27 years, my husband’s illness was the stone dropped into the center of our lives. You don’t have to be the one who hit the water to feel the impact; the waves will reach you anyways. Those ripples moved outward, disrupting the peace of my own mind and eventually reaching our children, distorting the surface of our world until the water was never still.
We lived in the wake of those constant splashes, navigating a home where the environment was always turbulent. For nearly three decades, “survival” was the only goal; keeping our heads above water while the ripples kept coming. But survival is a heavy way to live.