My Personal Journey with Childhood Trauma and Recovery

At CoKind Therapy, I value human connection above all. I truly believe that choosing the right therapist means finding someone you feel safe and connected with. That’s why I want to share a part of my story—not for sympathy, but because this is what shaped the therapist I’ve become.

I don’t feel shame about my past. My childhood experiences are part of what made me who I am today. That said, some parts of this post may be triggering. If you feel uncomfortable, I invite you to skip to the Recovery section.

The Early Memories

One of my earliest childhood memories is waking up around 3 or 4 a.m. when I was just three years old. My mother woke me and my older sister to go out searching for my father. I was still half-asleep, eyes barely open. Eventually, we found him—with another woman. His affair.

That was just the beginning.

Growing up, I witnessed constant arguments between my parents. I hated going home. My father worked two jobs, rarely home except to sleep. My mother—who had been disfigured in a fire as a child—struggled with her own emotional health and had little confidence. She often treated me more like a peer than a child.

A House Full of Secrets

At 13, I invited my best friend over for the first time. As we approached my home, we heard screaming. My mother was on the phone yelling at my dad’s mistress—another one. I felt so embarrassed that my friend had to see that side of my life.

I had already started showing signs of distress by then—attention-seeking, self-harming—but I kept going.

At 17, I came home from tutoring one evening and immediately sensed something was wrong. My siblings weren’t in the living room. My dad asked me how my class went—something he had never asked before. Then he said, “They’re on the balcony.”

When I walked out, my heart pounded. My mother was crying, on the phone with a church counselor. My little sister hugged me and sobbed. I held her in my arms and stayed strong, like I always did. Once again, it was about my dad’s affair.

My mum asked what she should do. My older sister avoided the situation completely, telling me, “You decide.” So I did. I told my dad to leave.

The Breaking Point

I wrote my dad a letter because I couldn’t express my feelings face to face. When I handed it to him, he snapped: “Just say what you want to say. Why give me this?” I fought back tears and told him to read it. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried.

He later asked me calmly, “Do you want me to leave?” I said yes.

He left—but every time he left, it still broke my heart.

Today, he still lives with my mum and still sees the other woman. It no longer surprises me. We've become numb to it.

Recovery

My recovery began after I developed PTSD and depression. I share more about that in another post: "My Journey With PTSD and Depression."

I started seeing a therapist but had to stop due to financial reasons. Still, that was the beginning. I learned that healing childhood trauma takes time. I moved out and created space for myself. I maintain relationships with my family in a way that feels safe—occasional visits, check-in messages, weekly calls with my mum.

Even now, as a psychologist, I’m still healing. But I’ve come far. I no longer immediately react when my father speaks. I try to be more rational, more grounded. I still cry easily, but now those tears come with insight, not helplessness.

You Are Not Alone

Healing is not a straight line. I share this story because if you're struggling with trauma, family pain, or emotional wounds that still hurt—you’re not alone. There is no shame in your story. Just like you, I’m still growing, still healing.

If you're ready to begin your healing journey, I’d be honored to walk beside you.