Today my soul sent me on a little journey. I needed to spend some time beneath my "writing tree." This majestic, wooded giant and I share a connection as strong and beautiful as its mossy trunk I lean against.

I honor this uncommon relationship; this tree answers questions I never even asked. Or maybe these are questions I was afraid to ask. As a young child, I was silenced; my personhood was torn away from me. I was an intact fabric with promising purpose, wound on a cardboard bolt and relegated to a "damaged" pile on the floor- kicked about, torn and tattered. I was left vulnerable, with no selvage to secure my integrity.

You see, when you are an abuse survivor, it takes years to reassemble the many little pieces of yourself together. But once you are whole, what can you become? When reconstructed, how can you gain perspective, then help others to learn from your survival and healing?

Sadly, I had no one to comfort me while I endured heinous emotional abuse. Although I wasn't loved, I still had love to give. As my pain turned inwards, I looked outwards to find something or someone to love. I needed an object made from and comprised of repurposed scraps-like a rag doll. I could so readily bond with and relate to something created entirely with "unusable" remnants; mismatched, rejected discards on the factory floor- swept up, salvaged and stitched to become something useful, adored and treasured.

"You were a mistake we considered aborting," my parents told me. "You are not like your sister or brother. We don't care if you live or die. You are stupid, and no one will ever want you." I was an unlovable, unworthy reject. I was the unwanted rag doll that didn't belong on or in the bed; I was relegated to the hard, wooden floor, where I was stepped on, my value obliterated. I wanted the chance to be endeared and adored; my compensation for the monumental healing of my undervalued soul.

In these metaphors lies the evolution of what I was and who I have become. I encourage many other rag dolls to know they don't belong where I was- on a splintered old wooden floor.

I've become a rag doll who has the honor of sharing the passion that was always the "stuff" of my being. I am respected and give validation to over 17,000 Facebook survivors of abuse. I remind them they are beautiful and worthy; like me, they can reassemble themselves to give and receive love. For we are the lucky ones who are privileged to learn that our past does not limit our potential. We can't embrace or assimilate love when we allow ourselves to be underfoot and unvalued. With healing, we are the beautiful pieces of ourselves, a compassionate collection of goodness. We are filled with gratitude; a gift that keeps on giving.

My rag doll has inspired lessons in resilience, tenacity and hope. But still, life happens. Threads tear and seams split- but now we are equipped with a handy little sewing kit. Falling apart is no longer an option. We will pick ourselves up off the floor, and not question our resolve. We have a needle and thread to mend hearts and repair rag dolls.