The Story Isn’t Mine to Tell—But the Silence Was

There’s a story I published recently that cracked something open in me.

It started with a text from my mother—short, simple, unexpected. But it said everything I’ve spent a lifetime longing to hear.

It’s a story about silence. About mothers. About trauma that gets passed down like family heirlooms no one asked for. About healing that comes decades too late—and still somehow matters.

I wrote the full story on Substack, because that space holds my most raw and vulnerable pieces. But I wanted to leave a trace of it here, too. Because this moment changed me. And it deserves a place in the archive of everything I’m building here.

If you’ve ever tried to untangle the mess of love and survival,
If you’ve ever questioned whether the damage done can ever be repaired,
If you’re a daughter, a mother, or just a soul trying to break the cycle—

This one’s for you.

Read the full piece here: My Mother Made Me Cry Today

At AuRTistic Expressions, I explore stories about generational trauma, neurodivergence, emotional healing, and what it means to survive without performing. If you’re navigating reparenting, burnout recovery, or just trying to find your voice again, you’re in the right place.