Never will I forget the day, in his "you are in HUGE trouble" voice, my father came to my room and demanded I follow him to the family room. Once there, I was instructed to sit next to him on the couch. He held up the red diary my mother rifled through my bedroom to find and dropped it into my lap. "Open it and read it to me," he demanded. Yes, my child psychiatrist father forced me to read aloud my innermost thoughts. Most painfully, he used my thoughts and words in my own writing against me.

In these most violating and humiliating moments, my father snuffed out my trust in him and my mother. Worse still, he annihilated my most loyal friend, my diary. Gone. No person or place for me to confide in and turn to when I needed to express my feelings. I needed closure. I mourned the loss of what swaddled the substance of my soul. I wanted to bury my diary in a cemetery as if to lay to rest my violated, shattered heart.

Those of us who have experienced abuse are all too familiar with the invalidation and destruction of our soul. My devastating diary incident is a perfect metaphor for losses incurred by physical, sexual, emotional, and other types of abuse. It doesn't matter which specific behaviors are the causative factor; when our personhood and boundaries are overpowered, our souls are decimated.

While we can heal from abuse, our lives will be forever changed. But "changed" can mean many things. For many years, I directed my pain inwards. I developed three eating disorders, attempted suicide three times, and hated every single bit of my being. After having my first child, I realized I would certainly repeat the cycle of abuse unless I found a way to deal with my pain and anger. I was fortunate enough to get therapy. While therapy doesn't undo our past, it teaches us to process our feelings and put them into a safe place. We become adept at recognizing triggers and boundary-crossing. Our sharpened instincts scream when we should run for our lives from those likely to perpetuate abuse.

I have made huge strides since my abuse. I raised five unequivocally loving, genuine, productive children who are bettering our world in countless ways. Through my book Room in the Heart and my Facebook pages Iamdanaandrews, and Menareabused2, I reach out to encourage and offer hope to anyone who struggles from their abuse. In helping others, I experience even more healing. Mostly though, I want to be proof that although we were the walking wounded, we can be the survivors who saved ourselves.

I want you to know that no matter where you are in your healing, you are the brilliant light that will someday be others’ North Star. You have survived, and you know your heinous journey was not okay. Sometimes you find the strength and clarity to seek the joy you know you deserved all along. Other times you struggle to take another breath. Your heart hurts, burning tears blur your vision, and you wonder what is and isn't real. You can't remember how it feels to feel. You wonder why you were the chosen victim. Perhaps the answer to this and the apology from the abuser might never come. But you are still here.

While the injured part of your heart lacks confidence, breath in your lungs, and your beating heart is proof mercy awaits. While healing is painful and exhausting, contentment and joy are the most worthy compensation there is. Please, in your darkest days, remember this: abuse doesn't have to be our tombstone. Meet yourself where you are each day. Allow your tired soul to slumber, but put on your dancing shoes when you hear the music play. You cannot give up. You are worth saving.

And lest you forget, even when you are too tired to try, you are still my hero.