I once believed I had failed my children because they didn’t know how to use their voices. But I see now that I couldn’t teach what I didn’t have myself. This isn’t a story of silencing others—it’s about surviving patterns of dismissal, isolation, and silence, and learning how to reclaim a voice that was never truly gone.

A person “playing the victim” stays stuck—they don’t go back to school, don’t show up for work, don’t push for growth, and don’t fight for lasting change. A cycle breaker is the opposite: they rise, they rebuild, they advocate. And for that strength, they are often ostracized, excluded, and scapegoated. A cycle breaker is not a victim—they are living proof that survival can become transformation.

I have been told that my writing is “toxic,” that I am “playing the victim,” or that I am “airing dirty laundry.” But my words are not weapons—they are survival. They are the way I refuse to be erased. This is not about tearing anyone down; it is about leaving a truthful record of love, grief, and resilience, so that years from now no one can rewrite my story into something it never was.

In “Writing Through Loneliness,” ancestral teachings and the gentle medicine of yarrow guide readers from isolation toward belonging. Through personal reflection, the Seven Teachings, and community ceremony, each ptal of insight offers solace. Exploring ritual and plant symbolism, this post invites writing as a pathway to healing, reconnection, and renewal.

Though my heart aches with the distance that time and silence have carved between my daughter and granddaughter, I carry hope in every soft breath. I remember their laughter among sunlit mornings, and I believe one day the door of belonging will reopen. Until then, I hold love’s gentle promise.