Big Truth Advocate

Big Truth Advocate ⚠︎SA Survivor & Advocate⚠︎
Speaking My Truth
Exclaiming Boundaries
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I grew up learning that my words were fragile things, easy for others to ignore, easy for them to twist.People laughed, ...
06/24/2026

I grew up learning that my words were fragile things, easy for others to ignore, easy for them to twist.
People laughed, talked over me,
told me who I was supposed to be
before I ever had the chance to speak it myself.

And it carried into my adulthood,
that quiet ache of being dismissed,
of watching others twist my truth into their own stories, of feeling small in rooms that never made space for me.
I became the echo of their laughter,
until I learned that silence could be strength too.

Even then, I kept listening to the part of me
that refused to fade.
The part that knew what I felt was real,
what I lived was real,
what I survived was real.

I learned to trust my own voice
more than the noise around me.
I learned that truth doesn't need permission to exist.

And now, I stand in the fullness of who I am,
no longer shrinking,
no longer apologizing,
no longer letting anyone else decide
what my story should mean.

Father’s Day arrives like a tide I never asked for, bringing with it photographs of daughters laughing beside men who ta...
06/22/2026

Father’s Day arrives like a tide I never asked for, bringing with it photographs of daughters laughing beside men who taught them that the world could be trusted.

I scroll through their memories
like a child standing outside a warmly lit window, watching shadows dance across a table where there is always a hand reaching for hers.

I wonder what it must have felt like to run toward a father instead of away from him.
To know his voice as a shelter.
To believe that protection could wear a familiar face.

When I was young, I carried my longing like a small lantern.
Every glimpse of a good father made it flicker brighter.
A neighbour.
An uncle.
A grand father.
A friend’s dad.
Tiny constellations in a sky I wished belonged to me.

For years, I thought I was grieving a person.
Now I know I was grieving a possibility.

I grieve the best friend I never had.
The confidant who never answered.
The safe place that never existed.
I grieve the little girl who stood at the shoreline of her own childhood, watching other daughters be carried safely home while she learned to swim alone.

And she did.

She grew strong from necessity.
Built walls from survival.
Learned how to become her own protector when no one else would.

But strength is a lonely inheritance.

Now, as I learn the language of softness, I sometimes wonder how much easier it would have been, if gentleness had been my first teacher.
If I had known a father whose love felt like sunlight through open curtains instead of stormy weather I had to survive.

Today, my heart aches mostly for the little girl still living inside me.

The one who never stopped looking.
The one who deserved a father who was warm, and kind, and safe.

I spent too long softening the edges ofother people’s harm,calling their chaos normal, convincing myselftheir behaviour ...
06/19/2026

I spent too long softening the edges of
other people’s harm,
calling their chaos normal, convincing myself
their behaviour was something I should carry.

I made excuses for manipulation, selfishness,
and the shadows others cast,
even when my chest tightened
and my intuition whispered the truth.

I swallowed too many bad feelings
just to keep the peace,
setting my own happiness aside
so others could stay comfortable.

But my heart has always known
what was meant for me and what was not.

I’m done bending myself around people
who refuse to see their impact.
I’m done normalizing
what was never normal.

From here on, I honour the voice inside me,
the one that has never lied.
My circle will be made of those who are genuine,
self‑tender with their words and actions.

Only those who choose honesty over manipulation,
accountability over excuses, and care
over convenience will stand close to me.

I’m protecting my peace like it’s sacred,
I’m choosing the people who choose me back.

My whole life, I’ve believed there was more good in people than bad. I chose kindness, understanding, and compassion, ev...
06/16/2026

My whole life, I’ve believed there was more good in people than bad. I chose kindness, understanding, and compassion, even when life gave me every reason not to.

What I didn’t realize was how many people would mistake my kindness for weakness and my trust for something they could use to their advantage. I’ve been manipulated, taken for granted, and hurt by people I welcomed into my life, leaving me questioning my own judgment more times than I can count.

For a while, I felt myself becoming colder, building walls to protect what was left of my heart. But despite everything, no one ever reached the core of who I am. They may have wounded my trust, but they never stole my ability to love.

Thankfully, I’m learning that protecting my heart doesn’t mean hardening it. It means valuing it enough to place it in the hands of those who deserve it. I no longer carry the weight of other people’s choices, and I no longer apologize for having a good heart.

The world may have tried to make me bitter, but I am choosing something far braver:
To remain kind, while finally learning who deserves my kindness.

I carried the secret like a fragile world inside my chest, holding my breath as if stillness alone could keep everything...
06/15/2026

I carried the secret like a fragile world inside my chest, holding my breath as if stillness alone could keep everything from breaking.
I thought silence would save them, that if I stayed quiet, kept it all in, they would stay whole, and I would not disappear beneath the truth.

But silence is its own kind of ruin.
It crumbles slowly, from the inside out,
until the weight you tried to protect them from is the same weight that destroys you first,
and everything you feared would fall apart, falls piece by piece anyways, until you’re left with nothing and no one.

A child should never have to raise themselves in the shadows of the people meant to protect them. But I did…I grew up ho...
06/15/2026

A child should never have to raise themselves in the shadows of the people meant to protect them. But I did…
I grew up holding my own hand in the dark, and the scars still whisper the story.
But I am choosing to face those scars and truly heal them over, for good.
I deserve prosperity🤍

A father is supposed to teach his daughter that she is safe, valued, and worthy of love.Instead, I learned how to make m...
06/11/2026

A father is supposed to teach his daughter that she is safe, valued, and worthy of love.

Instead, I learned how to make myself smaller in his shadow.

His coldness made me question my worth.
His anger made me fear mistakes.
His jealousy made me hide my milestones.
His depression stole the warmth from my childhood.
And his guilt became another burden to carry.

I was a little girl trying to survive a pain that was never mine to fix.

The tragedy isn’t just that I grew up without a father’s love. It’s that I spent so many years believing it was my job to earn it.

I spent years feeling like I was competing in a race I never agreed to run.Instead of being guided, protected, and taugh...
06/11/2026

I spent years feeling like I was competing in a race I never agreed to run.

Instead of being guided, protected, and taught my worth, I was often made to feel as though I was something to be measured against. Boundaries that should have existed were ignored. I watched her seek affirmation from my younger brother’s friends, from my older brother’s classmates, from people I loved, and even from someone she once spoke about as though he were another son. What should have felt safe and appropriate often felt blurred, leaving me questioning what healthy boundaries were supposed to look like.

As a young girl, I learned to question my value, my beauty, and my place in the world because it felt like there was always a need to prove who was more desirable, more wanted, or more important. I watched the lines between parent, friend, and rival become blurred. The message I carried was that no matter who entered my life, I could never simply be allowed to have something that was mine.

For years, I thought that meant the problem was me. I thought if I were prettier, smarter, more confident, or more lovable, the battle would end. But healing taught me something different.

I was never supposed to be in competing with my mother… I was never supposed to earn the safety, respect, and boundaries that every child deserves.
The inadequacy I carried was never mine to begin with, it was hers all along and I will now move forward in grace, knowing she will forever search to fill that void, and I simply won’t.

There was a time I held my own shoulders because no one else would.I walked through silence, through the ache of being u...
06/10/2026

There was a time I held my own shoulders because no one else would.
I walked through silence, through the ache of being unseen, learning to protect myself in ways the world never taught me.

There are traumatic experiences that change the way you move through life, the way your body remembers what your mind tries to forget.
For a long time, I didn’t know what it meant to feel safe.
I learned to walk with my guard up, always scanning, always bracing, convinced the world was something I had to survive rather than trust.

I never knew the luxury of walking the earth with blind freedom.

But slowly, almost quietly, the light began to shift.
Not all at once, just enough for me to notice the softness I had forgotten existed.
Calm mornings, gentle air, small signs that maybe the world wasn’t only made of shadows…

Now I stand in the open field with my hands lifted high, trusting, that the same world that once felt cold and indifferent might guide me somewhere kinder.
I am not lost. I am finally living.
Every breath, every sunrise, every quiet moment of faith and prosperity is proof that healing doesn’t arrive in a single moment, it unfolds, like wings learning to open for the first time🪽

My childhood was a staged performance.Everything looked soft and picture‑perfect from the audience, the props, the smile...
06/08/2026

My childhood was a staged performance.
Everything looked soft and picture‑perfect from the audience, the props, the smiles, the carefully curated scenes.
But when the lights dimmed and the curtains closed, the truth was nothing like the show.

I grew up with a father who didn’t just distance himself, he mocked his own children openly, turning us into the punchline of his bitterness.
No child should have to walk on eggshells around the man who’s supposed to make them feel safe.

A mother who poured all her warmth into every child except her own, chasing admiration from the outside world while leaving us empty‑handed behind the scenes.
No one should have to feel that strange, hollow awkwardness with their own mother, the kind that comes from a relationship built on curated lies instead of love.

And a family who saw the darkness building, who saw the flaws as clearly as I did, and still chose silence because pretending was easier than confronting reality.

It was theatre, costumes for the world, cruelty in the quiet.
A performance everyone protected, even when it meant abandoning the children living it.

For years, I carried the weight of their production in silence.
Now I’m stepping out of their script, out of the roles they chose, out of the illusion they built.

This time, the story is mine, unmasked, unperformed, and finally honest.

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