#trauma and healing

[aventurineswife]

The weight of the sky seemed endless as the two of you sat in silence, the gentle hum of the Astral Express vibrating beneath your feet. Sunday’s gaze was cast toward the swirling cosmos outside the window, his eyes softened by the vastness before him. His wings fluttered ever so slightly, a subtle sign of something unspoken, something held close within his heart. His halo hovered faintly above him, the eyes etched within it flickering in time with the distant stars.

Beside him, you, a fallen angel, watched as the space between the two of you expanded and contracted, as if the universe itself was breathing in sync with your hesitant connection. Once, you had both been celestial beings, bathed in light and purpose. But now, the wings that had once been a symbol of grace hung heavier, tarnished by the fall, by the choices that had been made. Your shared past was no longer a dream of peace, but an echo of something more complicated—something fractured.

It was the stillness between you that felt the loudest. Sunday’s usual calm demeanor, always so composed, now seemed like a fragile facade, as if his very presence was too delicate to bear the weight of both his idealism and his doubts. And you—your once-vibrant wings were now a muted reflection of their former glory, the loss of innocence still fresh on your soul. You had fallen, yes, but in your heart, you both knew it wasn’t just the fall that kept you grounded. It was the constant struggle to rise again, together or apart.

You had loved him once, and perhaps still did, despite the years of separation, despite the wounds that had never fully healed. His soft gaze met yours briefly, and for a moment, the distance between the two of you seemed to vanish. But only for a moment. The coldness of his self-imposed solitude crept back in, shrouding him in the same protective shell that had kept him isolated for so long.

He, the protector of dreams, the idealist who wished to escape suffering, now seemed caught between worlds—the one that was real and the one he so desperately wanted to create. You understood that pain; it resonated within you, reverberating through every fiber of your being. The loss of your wings had not been a simple fall; it had been a choice, a fracture of ideals, a departure from a reality too painful to face.

Yet in that fleeting look, you saw him—the Sunday you had known before everything had fallen apart. The one who still clung to hope, however fragile, despite the weight of his guilt. The one who believed in redemption, in healing, even when the path forward was cloaked in shadows. He was still searching, still yearning for something better, but it was unclear whether he was doing it for the world or for himself.

Your wings, though broken, still yearned to reach him. To soothe the turmoil that clouded his thoughts, to whisper the truth that you both were more than the sum of your pasts. You had fallen, yes, but you had also risen, over and over. And so had he, in his own way, struggling with his own fall.

But it was the fall that had changed you both. The quiet way you drifted into each other's orbit, two souls bound by the same celestial ache, yet bound by the knowledge that redemption wasn’t a place—it was a journey. Together, but apart, your connection remained fragile, and yet undeniable, like the stars that burned dimly yet persistently in the void.

As the train drifted further into the unknown, you sat beside him, not speaking, but knowing. Knowing that no matter how far the distance stretched between your hearts, there would always be something that tethered you both together—a shared past, a shared longing, a shared, quiet hope.

Originally was requested by someone on Wattpad but I wanted to post here too because I can and I will 🧍‍♀️🫶

[earthangelrage]

I’ve been wanting to paint this in the style of Tracey Emin for years and I finally drew it on my iPad on procreate. I can’t wait until I’m able to paint this on a canvas. This is about how I’ve only ever felt pretty while having my trauma re-enacted through rough and degrading sex with a partner who did not give a fuck about my well-being. I broke my own heart each time that I recreated my sexual abuse but I also laid it out on a silver platter for the predator to devour it as well. This was a partnered effort that made me feel at home during the act and torn with shame and self disgust afterwards. This piece is the visual representation of sex used as self harm. I know that many victims of csa/sa who have acted out in both sexual and self destructive ways because of what we suffered before. I make this art for many survivors who can relate but also for the survivors who have too much shame to speak out about it. The world has shunned us enough for something that was out of our control so please have compassion and grace towards yourself. Love, Grace <3

[gallavichfanficlibrary]

Hi me again...are there any fics of Ian caring for Mickey when he has a mental breakdown? Or dealing with his past trauma?

Hi hi! We've covered Mickey dealing with past trauma in a few asks. Here are fics where Ian and Mickey talk about the trauma of 3x06, here are more fics addressing Mickey’s 3x06 trauma, and here are the fics that focus on Mickey around the time he finds out that Svetlana became pregnant with Yev. Generally go through our trauma and healing tag :)

Some more suggestions:

What you and I have - Mickey is forced to relive a difficult part of his life, in the form of a very vivid nightmare. Thankfully, his husband is right there next to him, ready to comfort him and help put the past behind them.

Volume - Mickey doesn't like loud noises and fuck if living in the Gallagher house doesn't guarantee loud noise.

Cinderella Man - “You’re my husband,” Ian said simply. “Where else would I be?”

no more monsters (i can breathe again) - And a good night’s sleep couldn’t cure all the grief, all the anger and the pain and the fear, but it definitely wasn’t a bad place to start.

Offspring - Post S10. Mickey flips out when Franny is being too loud.

lemme show you the ropes - Family dynamics shift after the wedding. Mickey's not sure he's ready. Not sure he even knows what family is.

Hold on to what we've got - Something isn’t right, Ian thinks as he watches Mickey exhaling a shaky breath, storming out of the door and leaving a broken chair and a perplexed store manager behind.

[rainbow-rebellion]

Don’t mind me I’m just over here making unintelligible sounds at the season finale of The Way Home…. I’m happy, I’m sad, I’m confused AF and thank the gods they renewed for a season 3 next year, otherwise I might have gone feral after that cliffhanger they left us with

[stephtuckerauthor]

Updated the graphic as the covers are now changed!! Link to TBTBU: https://amzn.eu/d/fREJqFQ

[judeaftersickness]

hii im river this is my a little life sideblog. main is @0kultra!

this blog will most likely be for quotes and art lol but ill update this post as necessary if i start posting more things :-)

tags below <3

characters!!

- jude st francis

- willem ragnarsson

- malcolm irvine

- jb marion

- harold stein

- andy contractor

themes!!

- chronic pain

- forgiveness

- friendship and found family

- identity and self-perception

- isolation and connection

- love and sacrifice

- power and control

- trauma and healing

- trust and betrayal

- vulnerability and intimacy

misc

- language and imagery

- quotes

- mine

[chronal-anomaly]

i love writing in my modern verse because on paper it's so slice of life - which I personally find boring sometimes - but everything's colored in this air of healing, that even the mundane is a tool to help or a weapon to harm that healing process.

[capettitwrites]

Blurb: In Verona's bustling streets, beneath the shadow of Juliet's iconic balcony, a traveler reflects on the weight of tradition, love, and the enduring objectification of women. As tourists flock to touch the bronze statue of Shakespeare's heroine, seeking luck in love, one woman confronts her own past and the cultural stories that shape us. 'To Be A Statue' is a poignant exploration of autonomy, trauma, and the silent strength required to reclaim one's narrative.

CW: Sexual harassment/assault, objectification, implied trauma.

They say that touching certain parts of statues will bring good luck. Rubbing the belly of a Budha, or a dog statue’s nose, or the Charging Bull’s balls. I’ve seen my fair share of bronze statues buffed by human hands, even participated in some myself. A little turtle on Il Porcellino in Sydney owes its shiny head, at least in part, to me and the daily pets I give it on my morning walk. Something about bronze statues just makes us want to reach out and touch. 

Verona, Italy was beautiful. A day and a half of cramped legs and turbulence was well worth it for the medieval town that meandered along the Adige River. The orange street lights glittered off the turquoise water. Foliage of trees and potted plants hanging from balconies doused the streets in green. Burnt orange and muted yellow bricks contrasted against the beige masonry of the Romanesque architecture that surrounded us. 

Yesterday, Hayley and I had visited the Arena. While only a third of the size compared to the Colosseum, we were absolutely struck by how much it imposed. The streets of Piazza Bra from the Arena danced like a rainbow with its colourful houses. In addition to the tour, we managed to get tickets to Giuseppe Zenatallo’s Aida and the tragic opera filled our evening. 

Today, Hayley and I stand in Juliet’s House. Well, her courtyard to be more precise. Amongst the crowds, we admire her balcony and the ivy-coated trellis her Romeo would have climbed. The gate at the back of the courtyard is heavy with the weight of lovers’ locks, names of couples daring to love like Romeo and Juliet shining out under the sun. I can’t help but be reminded of the love lock bridge in Paris and wonder how long before the government puts an end to this too. How long before the gate falls over and all those relationships shatter with it?

There’s a bronze statue of Juliet standing just below the balcony. The people queue to have a photo with her and we join the curling line. All around, the tourists chatter in a thesaurus of languages. As we come to the front, with Juliet’s dim face staring back at us, I remember how cruel humanity is. Locked into herself, the people laugh and fondle her breast. Only her clothed chest has been rubbed golden. 

‘It’s a tradition,’ Hayley whispers to me. ‘They say if you touch her right breast, it’ll bring good luck for finding your one true love.’ 

The more I look at her, the sadder her eyes seem. It’s a familiar sadness. With our eyes locked, the line between statue and person begins to blur. As if the day were Friday and we spoke in unison, I feel I’m the one encased in bronze, standing there having my right breast cupped and carressed for the good fortune of a stranger. Juliet takes my place in line with Hayley, carrying all my history. 

It seems easy to put that young girl, only age fourteen, in my place. In my memories, my fiery red locks turn into her coppery bronze. The girl in My Little Pony pyjamas, dancing to Hannah Montana, becomes the statue Juliet. When Aunt Petra helps Mum in the kitchen and her boyfriend stays, I’m no longer the one in the room. Juliet takes the fall. Dull bronze shining under his touch. Maybe it’ll bring him luck. Maybe he and Aunt Petra will be together forever.. 

I can feel tourists groping at my breast when Juliet wanders onto my high school oval. The boys crowd her like the sightseers at Casa de Giulietta. It wasn’t her fault that she began maturing so young. It was natural for her to have a D-cup chest by the time she started high school. She wasn’t doing anything wrong when she let them ogle her. As far as she was concerned that’s what gave her purpose. If being sexualised was the only time she was given attention then how can you blame her for letting them have their way?

Juliet never grew past that point. Man devoured her before she became a grown up. Murder by lust. I think if she had the opportunity to live in this world a little longer, her eyes would have ended up looking like mine. Maybe her eyes were even the same shade ofshade of green. With age, they’d harden and grey. With age, she’d learn to hate her body. With age, she’d come to learn that Romeo never loved her. His infatuation was flighty and hardly worth the death she endured. Dream that the two resolved their families’ issues, that they spent their final moments with wrinkled hands wrapped around each other. Enjoy that innocence. 

‘Should we leave a message?’ Hayley asks and gestures to the wall below Juliet’s balcony. Littered in messages from young lovers in the hopes their love will last forever. Wandering closer, I see notes from Gloria and Chiara, Leo and Baby, E+R, someone named Armin. Messages that read ‘por las amores que te hacen’ and ‘que se lia conmigo’ and ‘I love my family so much’. People will do anything other than work hard for what they want. Relying on superstition and luck. 

I don’t want love. Not anymore. 

‘Yes,’ I answer and Hayley pulls out a paper and pen. She’s never been one to leave the house without some stationary on her. Writer’s habit, she jokes. Taking the pen in hand, I write down my wish. Maybe someday Juliet will make it come true. 

‘For love that liberates rather than confines. In the pursuit of dreams, may we shatter the bronze ceiling.

-Serena’

[empoweredmindcs]

Unresolved trauma can show up in our relationships in ways we don’t expect. In this video, we uncover 10 ways that trauma can affect connections with loved ones, from trust issues to emotional triggers. Whether you're healing alone or with a partner, understanding these effects can help you build stronger, more resilient relationships.

[ed-recoverry]

Reminder that caregivers of children are, by definition, supposed to provide shelter, food, and clothing. They did not do you a huge favor by providing this. It was the bare minimum of the job description that they voluntarily signed up for. You are not indebted to your caregivers for giving you the very basics.

[thepeacefulgarden]

[bugsybaritone]

I know I dont post my art on here a lot, mainly because when I do post it I don’t get any notes BUT I made a self portrait recently that is very meaningful to me and I want to share it with as many people as I can. Scroll past the pictures to get an explanation of why I chose this as my final for my drawing class this semester!

TW: fake blood

Back in January I was in a car accident that totaled my car, thankfully I walked away almost entirely unharmed except for a single 1-2mm laceration on my head. Despite walking away perfectly fine with no lasting physical effects this accident has stuck with me and even now I can barely talk about certain details without crying. For days following it I still felt like I was covered in glass and blood, it took me weeks to stop seeing it every time I closed my eyes and I still have nightmares about it. I miss my old car and in a way I’m grieving the loss of it alongside my trust in other drivers.

For my portrait I decided to capture the raw emotion of it: the sadness, grief, and anger that this happened to me. I chose to portray what I looked like when it happened, so I put the outfit that I hadn’t touched since I peeled it off in the hospital on for the first time in months. I used to love that outfit and now I can’t bear looking at it. I sat down in front of my camera, set a countdown and closed my eyes thinking about that day. Thinking about how in a matter of seconds my first car was ruined and I was longer an accident free driver, about how it felt when it finally sunk in ten seconds after it happened and what it was like looking through my windshield silently asking the people I could see in their cars through their windshields what I should do. There’s dozens of moments from that day that I sat there remembering to get the reference photo for this drawing, it was hard to not only make myself relive it for a picture but also to draw it as well.

This isn’t the first drawing I’ve made related to the accident and I don’t think it will be the last.

[vizthedatum]

An apparently unpopular opinion: disabled people can have and do their hobbies. They deserve to have fun. They deserve to live their lives.

Their inability to do some things (like work, for example) does not mean they should be judged for… idk hanging out with their friends or to going outside. After all, having interests outside of work is often essential to our mental and physical health OUTSIDE of our disability.

And also *you might want to sit down for this* disabled people know what’s disabling for them (unless they people-please or push through due to necessity or survival of some sort). Disabilities don’t have to be visible or persistent to be disabling.

So yeah - my declaration: if an activity you want to do feels good and you’re able to do it, then do it. REGARDLESS OF YOUR DISABILITY WITH OTHER THINGS.

[gallavichfanficlibrary]

Any stories where Mickey has a good adult role model?

The first fic that comes to mind is Etherized Against the Sky - a canon-divergent from 1x09, in which Mickey has to tell the truth about the shooting with Kash and gets taken to a group home.

In Don’t Leave Me to Bleed Kev and V are Mickey’s foster family and you could say Kev plays a role in Mickey's life.

Mickey has parental figues in Cooperative Gameplay and Intro to Quantum Dating, but those are not the main plotlines of both fics.

There are some fics that show adult Mickey getting help later on in life, like a lawyer or a therapist, but we don't think that's what you meant.

[herrebelfaith]

“Our personality is formed in response to the world we’re born into… We create a character and we fill that role... One of the people who lives within us contains all our neuroses, all of our fears. This is our ‘personality.’… But the other one is our god-self.“(via Finding Your Self: Personality, Trauma, and Spiritual Wholeness)

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

(Photo IDs in alt text)

(this is for everyone but especially queer, LGBT+, trans, “cringy”, disabled, fat, BIPOC/BBIMP, otherwise marginalized and/or non “normative” communities, identities, and people. we love you all 💜. ~Nico)