The Unmuted Truth #3: The Truth I Always Knew: A Reflection on Childhood Trauma, Silence, and Choosing Myself

For Everyone Who Was Taught To Whisper

By Nina, Transformational Mindset Coach

If you missed the beginning of this series, you can read The Unmuted Truth #1 here

‘You’re allowed to come home now.'

Not in the way you’d expect—not in images or events.

The Moment I Remembered: A Revelation, Not a Memory

There wasn’t a single moment.

There was a rising.

A slow, aching rise from somewhere deep beneath the skin of my life—one I had learned to live without touching. The truth didn’t come crashing in with fanfare or flames.

It unfolded, like a letter I had unknowingly kept sealed in the corners of my heart.

For most of my life, I didn’t remember the abuse from my childhood.

Not in the way you’d expect—not in images or events.

I remembered in behaviours.

In silence.

In people I chose.

In the way I abandoned myself while clinging to others.

I remembered in shame that had no words.

And then, one day, a question cracked something open.

It wasn’t a question asked aloud—it was more like a soul-knock.

A whisper of truth finally tired of waiting.

That’s when it began to return to me—not as a flashback, but as a knowing. A deep, irrefutable knowing that I had been hurt in ways I was never allowed to name.

And that I had built a life around that silence.

I used to think healing meant remembering the exact details.

Now I understand that healing begins when you believe your body over your doubt.

'For most of my life, I didn’t remember the abuse from my childhood.'

I Always Knew

The thing is—I always knew.

Even as a little girl, I knew what was happening was wrong. I knew it wasn’t supposed to feel like that. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be scared in my own skin. I didn’t have the words, but I had the knowing.

That sacred inner compass we’re all born with—that gut feeling, that flutter of resistance—I had that. I just wasn’t allowed to follow it.

And so, like many do, I buried the evidence.

Not because it wasn’t real, but because it was too real.

Too painful.

Too dangerous.

Too likely to be disbelieved.

The silence became my shield. The shame, my shadow.

What made the remembering even more confronting was the confirmation.

Years later, as an adult, when fragments returned and the ache became impossible to ignore, I gathered the courage to speak—to ask.

And what I received were words that landed like a second injury:

"We knew. You know, in those days it just wasn’t spoken about."

Let that sink in.

They knew.

And still, no one stepped in.

No one said “this isn’t right.”

No one saved me.

What does a child do with that?

She learns not to trust the world.

She learns to silence her truth.

She learns to survive.

'The silence became my shield. The shame, my shadow.'

When Survival No Longer Served Me

For a long time, survival was my superpower.

It taught me how to stay quiet when it wasn’t safe to speak.

It taught me how to leave my body while still pretending to be in the room.

It taught me how to be whoever I needed to be to keep the peace, avoid the blame, or simply not rock the boat.

Survival wrapped itself around me like armour—heavy, reliable, and exhausting.

And for a while, it worked.

It had to.

But here’s the thing about armour:

Eventually, it starts to rust.

It pinches.

It weighs you down so much that you forget what it’s like to feel light.

To breathe freely.

To feel at all.

And so, there came a time—slow and soul-cracking—when I realised that surviving wasn’t enough anymore.

I was tired.

Not just tired in my bones, but tired in my being.

I wanted more than just “not drowning.

”I wanted to rise.

The darkness I had once been swallowed by became the very place I began to find my strength. Not because it was safe, but because I was finally ready to look at it. To name what had once silenced me. To reach into the parts I had long abandoned and whisper,

‘You’re allowed to come home now.'

The revelation wasn’t neat.

It was messy.

It was raw.

But it was mine.

'And so, there came a time—slow and soul-cracking—when I realised that surviving wasn’t enough anymore.'

Choosing Myself for the First Time

It didn’t come with fireworks.

There was no grand declaration, no drumroll moment.

Just a whisper—barely louder than a breath.

“No more.”

No more betraying myself to make others comfortable.

No more pretending I was okay just because it was easier.

No more carrying their silence as my burden.

It was the first time I saw myself not as broken, but as brave.

Not as too much or not enough, but as mine.

Choosing myself meant giving up the stories I had inherited from those who told me I was too emotional, too sensitive, too much of a truth-teller.

It meant putting down the shame that was never mine to hold in the first place.

It meant allowing myself to believe that I was worthy of peace, of softness, of a life not ruled by fear.

And let me tell you—choosing yourself after years of abandonment, even abandonment by your own self, is no small act.

It’s radical.

It’s rebellious.

It’s the first brick in the rebuilding of your soul.

That choice didn’t heal everything overnight.

But it cracked open the sky enough to let some light in.

And that light? It’s where I began again.

'And that light? It’s where I began again.'

💜 From My Heart to Yours

If any part of this reflection touched a wound you thought was long buried, or stirred a truth you’ve been afraid to say out loud… I want you to know:

💜 You were right to feel what you felt.

💜 You were right to know it was wrong.

💜 And you are still worthy of a life that feels safe, free, and whole.

It takes enormous courage to face the truths we buried to survive.

But you are not broken for needing to forget.

You are not weak for finally remembering.

And you are not alone as you begin again.

This space is where I return to reclaim my voice.

To honour the child who always knew.

And to hold the hand of the woman I am now becoming.

✨ Remember. Reclaim. Rise. Rebuild. ✨

If you’re on your own path back to yourself, here are some ways we can stay connected:

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You can read more about my journey here

With love, always,

Nina 💖💜

'It takes enormous courage to face the truths we buried to survive.'