My Body Remembers What I Can’t.

Survival lives in my body. In the tension behind my eyes. In the migraines that arrive without warning. In the way I flinch at sounds I can’t trace back to memory.

I used to think I was dramatic. Now I know I’m remembering, just not with words.

There are smells that make me nauseous. Rooms that make me dizzy. Songs that make me cry without knowing why.

This blog is my way of translating that. Of giving shape to the things my body has carried alone. I write to name what I couldn’t say out loud. And when I do, it feels like something lifts. Not everything. But something.

That’s the art of surviving. Not just enduring, but expressing. Not just remembering, but releasing.