#healing

What Happens When the World Turns Away?

~ Ella Hicks

The hidden truths of domestic violence and the cost of silence.

Abusers don’t arrive with warning labels. No red horns. No cape. They come disguised as everything you thought you ever wanted. That is the hardest truth about domestic abuse. It does not announce itself. It hides in kindness, in charm, in morality — in the very qualities that make outsiders admire them while the victim begins to doubt herself.

At first it feels intoxicating. A flood of late night love messages. Constant attention. Lavish gifts. Promises of the future you once dreamed of. All of it becomes a blinder to the truth. These relationships often get serious very quickly, making it nearly impossible to hold onto healthy boundaries. The abuser studies what you need and feeds it back to you as confirmation. This has a name: love bombing.

It looks like generosity and grand gestures before trust has had time to grow. It sounds like forever talk from someone you barely know. Your nervous system reads the intensity as safety because acceptance like this can feel like home. You feel seen, heard, and held — possibly for the first time in your life. That is what makes it so powerful. But it is not love. It is conditioning. It is bait in the trap.

Once the hook is in, the mask begins to slip. Control creeps in quietly at first. A jealous comment disguised as concern. A demand dressed up as protection. The cycle of abuse has begun, and it follows a pattern so many survivors come to know: tension, explosion, honeymoon.

Tension builds in small, relentless ways. Criticism. The silent treatment. The constant need to walk on eggshells to ward off the inevitable. Your body learns to scan for danger in every word and gesture. Then the explosion comes. It may be a night of insults meant to strip your worth. It may be a shove, a slap, or worse. Whatever form it takes, the explosion is designed to catch you off guard and break you down.

And then, the honeymoon. Apologies. Tears. Promises of change. Begging. The relief is palpable. For a moment, you want to believe he can return to the man you first met. This rhythm is deliberate. It conditions your nervous system to live in hyper vigilance while clinging to the rare scraps of kindness. The cycle itself becomes a cage — one built not of bars, but of hope. And hope is what keeps you tethered to the source of harm.

Living inside this cycle of emotional upheaval rewires the body. The nervous system is built to protect us, but when it is forced to stay on constant high alert, it becomes dysregulated. Your body forgets how to return to a baseline of calm. The heart begins to pound without understanding the trigger. Every creak in the floorboards feels like a warning. The body braces for blows that may never come. Sleep is fractured. Even silence begins to sound like danger.

Over time, the flood of stress hormones carves new neural pathways in the brain, and survival becomes the body’s only language. The chemistry of abuse begins to mimic the chemistry of addiction.

This is why survivors often describe the bond with an abuser as impossible to break. The body craves not the abuse itself, but the temporary relief that comes in the honeymoon phase. Like a drug, it offers a rush of dopamine that feels like intense relief after deprivation. That craving is not a weakness. It is the body trying to make sense of chaos. It is biology responding exactly as it has been trained to do.

Even after escape, the damage does not simply reset. Recovery from domestic abuse is not a single event. It is a process as complex as substance recovery — with its own withdrawals, its own triggers, and the slow, patient work of teaching the body how to feel safe again.

The emotional, physical, and psychological toll does not stop with her. A mother who lives in constant fear can’t help but pass that fear to her children. When her nervous system is on high alert, theirs will be too. Babies learn safety through their mother’s gaze. The tone of her voice. The rhythm of her breath. When those cues are disrupted by abuse, a child’s sense of self and safety is shaken. They grow in sandy soil. Soil that never stops shifting.

A child who can’t trust the world to be safe cannot thrive. Instead, they adapt. Some withdraw into silence. Some lash out in anger. Some learn to tiptoe the same way their mother tiptoes, measuring every word against the possibility of eruption. Abuse fractures families. It teaches even the smallest ones to live in survival mode. To please. To disappear. This is the generational ripple of trauma from domestic violence. It does not stay contained in one person. It alters nervous systems. It shapes futures. It plants fear where the roots of safety should have been.

“Why doesn’t she just leave?”

This is the question asked most often, and it is the one that cuts the deepest. In simple terms, it is ignorance. It places the burden on the victim instead of the abuser, as though leaving were simple, as though safety were waiting just outside the door. But leaving is never simple. In fact, it is the most lethal time in an abusive relationship. Not only do women lose their lives inside abuse, but many lose them in the desperate attempt to escape it.

And for the record, women do try to leave. On average, it takes eight or nine attempts before she finds her way out—if she is so lucky. A trauma bond is a very real psychological phenomenon. The nervous system, conditioned by cycles of abuse and reconciliation, clings to the hope of the honeymoon phase the way an addict clings to the next fix. Add to that the threats of poverty, homelessness, losing children, or retaliation, and the so-called “choice” to leave becomes a dark labyrinth that feels impossible to even try to navigate.

For mothers, every step is measured not only for herself but for the children she must protect. Can you imagine anything more terrifying than trying to escape with small children? Now imagine what happens when they are caught.

So when someone asks, “Why didn’t she just leave?” the only answer is that she was already surviving in the most impossible circumstances. And even when she does leave, the story does not end. Abuse has a long reach. It does not vanish when the door slams shut or when divorce papers are signed. In fact, many women discover a whole new layer of danger after they leave. It has a name: post-separation abuse. The threats, the stalking, the attempts to control through the children or the courts — all of it is part of the same cycle of abuse. Leaving does not guarantee safety. For many, it is just the beginning of another phase of survival.

Post-separation abuse is devastating not only because of the external threats but because of what is happening inside her body. A nervous system that has lived in chaos does not know how to return to calm. Even when the abuser is gone, her body keeps waiting for the next explosion. Sleep is fractured. Trust feels impossible. Even joy can feel unsafe.

Recovering from domestic abuse mirrors recovery from addiction. The body craves what it has been trained to expect, not the violence itself, but the fleeting relief that comes in the honeymoon phase. That moment of forgiveness or reconciliation is like a hit of dopamine, a temporary high after deprivation. The brain learns to chase it long after the relationship is over. This is not a weakness. It is human neurobiology. Trauma carves its pathways deep, and healing requires rewiring them, step by fragile step.

This is why recovery is not an event but a process. It carries withdrawals, triggers, and the slow, patient work of teaching the body how to feel safe again. Without support, the risk of returning to the abuser or finding herself in another abusive relationship remains painfully high. Safety is not just leaving. Safety is learning how to live again.

Domestic violence is endemic. One in three women will experience it in her lifetime, and that number only reflects those who report. Most never do. Abuse thrives in silence. It thrives in a patriarchal culture that still tells women to sit down and be quiet, to endure, to forgive. A culture that insists the highest compliment a woman can earn is to be selfless.

Abuse thrives when neighbors hear the screams and turn up the television. It thrives when the justice system minimizes abuse (“just a little fight with the wife”), when funding for shelters is slashed, when headlines sensationalize the tragedy but ignore the pattern.

When an extreme case makes the news, people become outraged, but within days the outrage fades. The world forgets. Survivors do not have that luxury. Every silenced woman, every child who grows up afraid, carries the weight of that forgetting. Silence protects the abuser. Silence ensures the cycle continues. We cannot afford to look away. Domestic violence is not contained behind closed doors. It is a collective wound that touches every community and every generation.

Elie Wiesel, a Holocaust survivor, carried the memory of what happens when the world stays silent. His words were born of a greater atrocity, but they hold true here: “Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”

What do survivors need from us?

They need us to stand with them. To speak. To donate. To advocate. To hold space for the women who are still trapped inside it, for those clawing their way out, and for those trying to rebuild a life from the floor up. Survival is solitary, but healing is collective. Together we can break the silence. Together we can dismantle the systems that embolden abusers. Together we can show every survivor that she has worth.

Ella xx

The Art of Waiting

~ Ella Hicks

“I have done nothing all summer but to wait for myself to be myself again.” — Georgia O’Keeffe


As this season draws to a close,
I find myself reflecting on the power of waiting.
I think about how healing often unfolds in silence.
It happens in slowness and unseen places.
What follows is not an explanation or a roadmap,
but a prayer I needed to write for myself.

I. The Courage to Wait

There is a wisdom in waiting that our culture does not honor.
We live in a world obsessed with productivity, speed, and achievement.
Rest is mistaken for laziness, and silence is confused with absence.

All summer, I waited.
For the quiet to soften me.
For the storms inside to pass.
For the woman I lost along the way to rise and meet me again.

And she is coming—
slowly, fiercely, wholly—
like a wildflower breaking through stone,
like the horizon pulling light back into itself.

This is what healing often asks of us:
to trust the invisible underground work,
and the gestation that can’t be hurried.
Seeds must split in the dark before they bloom in the light.
Similarly, we must surrender to seasons of waiting.
Only then can we rise whole again.

II. The Feminine Rhythm

In the feminine soul, healing does not move in straight lines.
It circles and spirals.
It withdraws before it returns.
It rests before it creates.

This rhythm is not weakness—it is ancient wisdom.
The body knows how to heal.
The spirit knows how to return.
Our task is not to force it, but to allow it.
To trust that our becoming is not delayed;
it is ripening.

III. The Dawn Always Comes

We don’t always heal by doing more.
Sometimes we heal by waiting.
By letting silence do its work.
By trusting that the parts of us we thought were gone
are only gathering strength to return.

If you’ve been waiting for yourself, know this:
she is still here.
She is still coming back.

And when she rises,
it will be with roots deeper,
branches stronger,
and a light no storm can take away.

So breathe.
Wait.
Trust.

For the dawn always comes.

Ella xx

Beyond the Title: What Dying for Sex Teaches Us About Trauma, Intimacy, and Reclamation

~ Ella Hicks

When I first heard the title, Dying for Sex (Hulu), I assumed I knew what I was walking into. Something provocative. Maybe irreverent. At best, an exploration of pleasure at the edge of mortality. But what I found was something far more sacred—a story of childhood sexual abuse, disconnection from the body, friendship that becomes a lifeline, and one woman’s wild, awkward, holy attempt to reclaim herself before the clock ran out.

This isn’t a story about sex. It’s a story about survival, intimacy, friendship, and the long, complicated journey of coming home to yourself.

I didn’t expect to be gutted by a show called Dying for Sex, but I was. The truth is, it wasn’t about sex. Not really. “Molly’s” story is one woman’s true story about living—and dying—with cancer.

Molly’s breast cancer had gone into remission, but ultimately, it returned. It had spread to her bones, liver, and brain. Stage IV. Terminal. She had been married for 13 years at this point. Her husband loved her, but had begun to see her only through the lens of a caretaker. He couldn’t fully see the woman she still was—a woman who craved not just safety, but desire. So she left him.

What she longed for was true embodiment in the presence of another. To be met without flinching. Without pity. Without being reduced to her illness or her past. Her treatment regimen had an unexpected side effect: it drastically increased her libido. But she wasn’t dying for sex—she was dying for safety, for intimacy, for a chance to feel something she’d been denied her whole life: real connection, acceptance, and love.

One of the main threads running through her story is the abuse she endured at age seven by her mother’s boyfriend. The wounds of sexual abuse don’t just fade—they shape-shift. Into shame. Into silence. Into a lifelong negotiation between your mind, your body, and your self-worth.

That guilt is heavy. And Molly carried it. Survivors know it well—the lie that you “participated.” That you could’ve stopped it. That your body’s response made you complicit. It’s a wound that defies logic. It damages not only your relationship with yourself, but also with the people you love—like her mother.

Molly’s story isn’t just bold—it’s legendary. She didn’t heal in the traditional sense. She didn’t transcend her pain. But she made room for herself inside it. For survivors like me—and like so many of us—that kind of reclamation is holy. Because in the middle of breaking down, she broke open. And in the shadow of death, she was reborn.

What makes her story even more powerful is her willingness to keep reaching across the divide. In time, she made peace—not just with her past, but with her mother. Not through a grand reconciliation, but through a series of quiet understandings. As she forgave herself, space opened to see her mother not only as someone who failed her, but as a woman shaped by her own silences and fears.

Forgiveness didn’t mean forgetting. It meant loosening pain’s grip. Releasing the knot in her chest so she could breathe again. Love again. Live out what was left of her life in peace.

Molly’s healing wasn’t about sex. It was about finding herself in the wreckage of a childhood where her body became a battleground and trust became collateral damage.

I know the stranglehold of that trauma personally. It doesn’t just haunt your memories—it hijacks your body, your sense of self, your relationships. Decades later, it can show up in the most intimate places where trust should live, but fear has built its home.

Through all of this—her unraveling, her ache, her awkward fumbling toward connection—there was Nikki. Her best friend and anchor. The mirror without judgment. The witness who didn’t try to fix her. When Molly asked, “Can I die with you?” I wept. That’s the power of sisterhood.

True sisterhood is sacred. It says: You don’t have to do this alone. I’ve got you—through the dying of old selves, old beliefs, and lifelong shame. That kind of friendship is church. It’s resurrection. It’s medicine.

Nikki didn’t just show up—she stayed. Through the awkwardness. The unraveling. The raw truths. She bore witness. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t rush. She held space, even when it felt impossible.

That’s what sisterhood looks like. Not performance, but presence. A hand held while you fall apart. A mirror that reminds you who you are when you can’t see clearly.

Molly’s bravery was hers. But Nikki’s presence made it possible. That kind of unwavering friendship doesn’t just support healing—it is healing. In a world where survivors are often invisible, to be truly seen by another woman—without judgment, without shame—is a lifeline. A return to self.

Molly’s story isn’t tidy. It’s raw and at times absurd—just like life. Healing is rarely elegant, and that’s the beauty of this story. Molly didn’t wait to be polished. She stepped toward truth—messy as it was—and made it hers.

For those of us haunted by our past, disconnected from our bodies, desperate to come home to ourselves, Dying for Sex is more than a story. It’s a map. Not a perfect one. But a courageous, deeply human one. At its heart? A woman who dared to return to herself before her body gave out.

And she didn’t return to emptiness. She returned to wholeness. In the end, Molly found what she was searching for: love, safety, and a real, embodied connection—with herself, and with someone else.

Healing didn’t erase the past. But it opened a door to a future she never believed she could touch.

Not perfect. Not painless. But real. And all hers.

May we all be that brave.
May we all have a Nikki.

For so many of us—especially those whose bodies were never safe places to live—healing is not linear. It’s messy. And sometimes, life gives you a deadline.

Dying for Sex reminds us that it’s never too late. To reach for yourself. To speak the truth. To be witnessed in your rawest humanity.

Even in the unraveling—you are worthy.
Of love. Of friendship. Of being held.

Coming home to yourself, no matter how long it takes, is the bravest journey of all.

Breaking the Cycle: Empowering Generations to Heal

~ Ella Hicks ~ Leave a comment


When I see women stepping away (decentering) from the patriarchy or millennials distancing themselves from their parents, I recognize the same thing happening: a powerful, quiet shift that says, “Please, treat me like a human. I’m done carrying the emotional weight for a connection when you won’t show up in ways that respect me.” It’s happening in romantic relationships, and it’s happening within families. One person is trying to dominate the other, and the other is saying, “No more.”

This shift is not just about distancing; it’s about reclaiming our right to be seen and respected as equals. It’s about recognizing that relationships, whether romantic or familial, must be built on mutual respect, not power struggles. If you want a real connection with me, there are no power dynamics at play. We show up with joy, a willingness to understand each other, and a shared love. Our feelings matter—whether we agree or disagree. No one gets to control another person’s time, space, or emotions.

I choose when I give access to myself, moment by moment. No one is entitled to it just because of who they are to me. This is the basic foundation for healthy, authentic relationships. But trauma makes these boundaries hard to honor. When we’re disconnected from ourselves—emotionally and physically—we can’t fully connect with others. And so, we resort to unhealthy ways of holding on—through loyalty or financial control, things that mask the real work of connection.

Healing begins when you reclaim your own identity. When you are honest with yourself, trust yourself, feel your emotions, and take care of yourself as an adult, you begin the process of building a personal foundation that is unshakeable.

The generations that came before us dealt with a lot of dysfunction, power struggles, and a loss of autonomy (especially for women). Abuse was accepted for women and children, at home, school, and the workplace. And one thing our world has never been in short supply of is war. Generations of men (and women) went to war, returned broken, and passed down their pain. That trauma lingers, shaping how we relate to one another.

It doesn’t take a massive event to cause trauma. In fact, trauma isn’t something that happens to you—it’s how your nervous system processes a traumatic event. Sometimes, it’s the smallest moments that leave the deepest marks, especially for children. But healing is possible, and it’s necessary. We are at a time where healing is essential to how we show up in our relationships. We can no longer build connections in the absence of boundaries. We have to heal to truly relate—and it starts with healing what was broken.


My Personal Insight: A Legacy of Healing

Raising my sons has been one of my greatest acts of healing. I’ve spent much of my life breaking free from the patterns I inherited from my parents—many of which they inherited from their own parents. My father, who I know loves me, is controlling and emotionally distant. My mother, though loving, has been subjugated to him my entire life. When I married at the age of 28, my partner brought his own history of intense trauma into our relationship, ultimately trying to control and diminish me.

I had to unlearn everything I was taught, not just for my own sake, but for my children as well.

I never wanted my sons to experience the same cycle of power and control that I did. I was determined to break the cycle and protect them from that. But healing is not something that happens overnight. It’s been an intense process, and I’ve learned that this journey of healing is just as much for them as it is for me.

My own healing only truly began after I escaped my abusive marriage. It has taken time—years, in fact—for me to identify the patterns of dysfunction I was caught in—and I’m still healing. I know that my trauma—the way I was raised and the relationships I’ve had—has shaped my responses and my approach to raising them. I don’t want our home to feel rigid or oppressive, so I’ve tried to create a space where they can heal themselves, without pressure or judgment. Even though I tried to protect them from the trauma I experienced, they still felt its echoes. Perhaps they wonder why I reacted in certain ways or why some patterns feel familiar. They too carry their own trauma—different from each other, stemming from their time with their abusive father. These wounds run deep within them, and only they can bring them into the light, where healing can begin.

In the absence of a father, my sons have gotten to know my father, their only grandfather, very well. A good man with many strengths, but he was raised in a time and in ways that didn’t allow him to be emotionally available or aware. The trauma he experienced carried over into his relationship with me, and in turn, it affected how I was able to show up for them at times. This legacy is real, and recognizing it is the first step to healing. Watching my mother become subservient to him and their religious dogma only deepened the dysfunction. This was her story, passed down from her mother: a man ruling over a woman—unhappy and unfulfilled—looking for escape or a better way. Even though I rejected and hated what I saw growing up, it still felt familiar when I met the man who would become my husband. That’s what happens with trauma—it feels like home, even when it’s unhealthy. It’s not a comfort, but a deep-seated familiarity that can be hard to shake, even when it’s harmful.

I understand that trauma can feel like a bond, even if it’s destructive, and it’s hard to break free from that. It is rooted in generations past and it lives in our very bones and flows in our blood. This is why it’s so important to see how dominance in relationships operates. It’s not always loud or violent, and it doesn’t always look like someone who is just too controlling or manipulative. We may interpret it as “care” or “concern,” but it’s really about control. Whether it’s a parent controlling who you see, where you go, who you worship, how you think, or a partner making you feel less than, it all comes from the same place: fear and control.

I’ve been a devoted student on my journey of healing, not just for me, but for them. I want my sons to know that they have the power to do the same. They are not bound by the patterns of the past. They are capable of building relationships based on love, equality, and understanding. They are worthy of all the love that comes from a place of respect—not control—and they must offer the same to others worthy of them. I can guide them, but the work of healing belongs to them alone.
I’ll always be here to walk beside them, but the real journey is theirs to take.

A pivotal piece of writing that has helped guide my parenting, more than almost anything else, is by Khalil Gibran, On Children:

“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.”

When they enter future relationships, I hope they do so with the wisdom of knowing that love is never about control. It’s about two people coming together with respect and shared growth.

Another piece by Gibran that has guided me in my own life is, On Marriage:

“…let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.”

Ultimately, as they heal, so too will the world around them. Their healing is not just for their own sake; it has the power to shift the very fabric of their relationships, their communities, and future generations. By doing the work to heal, they will light the path for others to follow. They have the power to change the course of their lives—and in doing so, help heal the world.

Understanding Trauma: Effects on Brain and Body

~ Ella Hicks ~ 1 Comment

When we begin to talk about trauma, it is important to understand that trauma isn’t what happens to you, but rather how your body and brain react to that experience. Not everyone responds the same way. Some people are more predisposed to developing post-traumatic stress

A traumatic event can cause your brain to get stuck in danger mode, even long after the threat is gone. It’s like your body is still on high alert, constantly sending out stress signals. This can lead to a dysregulated nervous system, making it hard to find peace and calm.

Trauma can leave a lasting imprint on our minds and bodies. When we experience a traumatic event, our brain switches into survival mode to protect us. This response is crucial in moments of real danger, but for many of us, our brains can get stuck in this high-alert state even after the danger has passed.

“Trauma can make it feel like you’re never safe, even if the world appears to be safe to everyone around you. This makes it incredibly difficult to explain to non-traumatized people, who can’t see the ‘reason’ why you feel anxious, scared, or powerless. Not all wounds are visible.” – Ella Hicks

What Happens to Your Brain?
During trauma, the amygdala (the part of the brain responsible for detecting threats) becomes overactive, while the prefrontal cortex (responsible for rational thinking and decision-making) can become underactive. This imbalance means that even when you’re safe, your brain might still perceive threats, causing constant stress and anxiety.

The Impact on Your Body
A dysregulated nervous system means your body is in a constant state of fight, flight, or freeze. This ongoing stress can lead to physical symptoms like headaches, muscle tension, digestive issues, and chronic fatigue. Emotionally, you might feel hypervigilant, irritable, or emotionally numb.

Healing and Regulation
Healing from trauma involves teaching your brain and body that it’s safe again. Here are a few steps to start:

1. Grounding Techniques

  • Deep Breathing: Practicing deep, slow breaths can activate the parasympathetic nervous system, which helps to calm the body. Try inhaling for four counts, holding for four, and exhaling for four.
  • Mindfulness Meditation: Engage in mindfulness meditation to bring your focus to the present moment. Apps like Headspace or Calm can guide you through the process.
  • Grounding Exercises: Techniques like pressing your feet into the ground, holding a piece of ice, or focusing on your surroundings can help anchor you in the present moment.

2. Therapy and Support

  • EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing): This therapeutic approach helps process and integrate traumatic memories, reducing their emotional charge.
  • Somatic Experiencing: This method focuses on bodily sensations to release stored trauma and regulate the nervous system.
  • Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy (CBT): CBT helps reframe negative thought patterns and develop healthier coping mechanisms.

3. Self-Compassion

  • Gentle Self-Talk: Replace self-criticism with supportive and understanding self-talk. Recognize your progress and effort, regardless of the pace.
  • Mindful Self-Compassion: Practices such as loving-kindness meditation can help you develop a kinder relationship with yourself.

4. Healthy Lifestyle

  • Regular Exercise: Physical activity, especially aerobic exercises like walking, running, or dancing, can help regulate stress hormones and boost mood.
  • Balanced Diet: Eating a nutritious diet supports overall well-being and can help stabilize mood swings.
  • Sufficient Sleep: Prioritize sleep hygiene to ensure you get adequate rest, which is crucial for healing and emotional regulation.
  • Joyful Activities: Engage in hobbies and activities that bring you joy, whether it’s painting, reading, gardening, or spending time in nature.

5. Community

  • Supportive Relationships: Cultivate relationships with people who understand and support you. Sharing your experiences can foster connection and validation.
  • Support Groups: Join support groups, either in-person or online, where you can share your journey with others who have similar experiences.
  • Rebel Thriver Community: In the Rebel Thriver Village, a private online community for women survivors of DV, abuse, and trauma, we provide a safe space for sharing and support. Connect with us and other members who are on a similar path to healing.

“Trauma isn’t just the bad stuff that happened. It’s also the good stuff that never happened.”
– Dr. Heidi Green

Remember, You Are Not Alone

When I first began my healing journey, I was overwhelmed and completely isolated. I struggled with constant anxiety and physical symptoms that seemed unexplainable. I had no point of reference for domestic violence; I didn’t think I knew anyone who had experienced it…little did I know then what I know now.

Eventually, I was diagnosed with CPTSD, Complex Post Traumatic Stress (disorder). There wasn’t much talk about trauma back then, so I started reading everything I could find in order to help myself and my children. I learned grounding techniques, embraced self-compassion, and slowly started to reclaim my sense of safety. I took classes and joined webinars, ultimately leading me to get my certification as a Clinical Trauma Professional and as a Mindfulness Coach.

In 2012, I created this blog in the hope of meeting other women who shared my experiences. I reached my trembling hand out into the darkness, and thousands of women from around the world reached back. Rebel Thriver quickly grew into a beautiful global community of people who understood each other’s lived experiences. This makes all the difference.

If you’re feeling stuck, remember that seeking help is a sign of strength, not weakness. Rebel Thriver is here to support and uplift women every step of the way. Together, we can find peace and reclaim our sense of safety and well-being.

Much Love,
Ella xx

  • If you are interested in working with Ella as a private client: Individual Sessions
  • If you are interested in joining one of Ella’s popular group coaching experiences for women: BLOOM or Wildflowers
  • If you are interested in joining our private online community, the Village, you can join us here: rebelthrivertribe.com

The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart: A Profound Reflection

~ Ella Hicks ~ 1 Comment

In the realm of Amazon Prime’s extensive library, there’s a hidden gem that recently caught my attention: “The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart.” Highly recommended by my friend Heather, I embarked on this journey, not fully prepared for the emotions it would stir within me. As I sat through its episodes, I found myself very triggered, and I felt a strong urge to share my thoughts and experiences with all of you.

When my friend initially asked if I had seen this series, I responded with a “no,” but with a promise to check it out. Her emphatic endorsement made it clear that this was a must-watch. I opened up Amazon Prime, and to my surprise, I discovered that the show had been partially viewed, halfway through the first episode. I thought that perhaps my son’s girlfriend had started it, so I decided to begin from the very beginning.

As the story unfolded, I couldn’t help but notice some eerie familiarity, which I initially attributed to a trailer or an advertisement I might have glimpsed earlier. I persisted with my viewing. When I reached the halfway point, a profound realization struck me – I had watched this episode before. I had watched until the midway mark and then abruptly turned it off. The reason was simple: it had triggered me to such an extent that I had buried the memory deep within my psyche. This is the insidious nature of trauma; it can hide within us, resurfacing unexpectedly.

This time, I pushed through the initial discomfort and watched the entire first episode. Last night, I completed all seven episodes. It was emotionally challenging at times, but I persevered because I understood why my friend had recommended it so strongly. It was a necessary watch. “The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart” mirrors my life and the mission of Rebel Thriver in countless ways. To avoid spoilers, I won’t delve into the storyline any further.

Connection is vital for survivors on a path of healing. Sharing the stories of survivors and listening to their voices is essential. Healing cannot thrive in isolation; we require spaces where we can come together and simply be. I am grateful to Amazon Prime for featuring this profoundly realistic production. It tells a version of our stories that educates people and validates the experiences of survivors worldwide, even though it originates from Australia.

I wholeheartedly encourage all the women you know to watch this Prime show. Sigourney Weaver’s portrayal in the lead role is nothing short of incredible, and she is supported by a cast of complex and dynamic female characters. Ultimately, at its core, the series conveys a message of healing and resilience, leaving a powerful impact.

I know it may be hard to watch, but I encourage you to try. Share this with your friends and consider having a watch party with it. Like trauma, this story has layers that need to be unpacked. There are patterns of generational abuse and dysfunction, and this is a place where we can see the big picture laid out. It’s like an archeological dig…little by little you begin to unearth the truth.

Ella xx

“And her light stretches over salt sea equally and flowerdeep fields.”
-Sappho

Love Your Beautiful Self

~ rebelthriver2 ~ Leave a comment

Do not wear your body as an apology.
Wear it proudly. Be in awe of your form,
for what it is or where it gets you,
for what it allows you to feel and do.

– Bianca Sparacin

Wear it proudly, my loves! You know that saying “Youth is wasted on the young”? I think of all the ways I “wore my body as an apology” when I was younger. Looking back I see how beautiful I was, in my own unique way, but saw nothing but flaws. I wish I could reach back through time, grab my younger self by the shoulders, and make her see sense. While that’s not possible, what I can do is make sure I speak to my inner child and live my message now. I see my body as my sacred vessel, and I am grateful for all the ways it fights for me, carries me, and allows me to feel and interact with the world. My freckles, stretch marks, wrinkles, and whatever else society says needs fixing, I now know is just another paint stroke to the masterpiece painting that is me. Love your beautiful self, and that includes your body; every inch! I hope you recognize how remarkable all that makes You up is, and that you see it now, not in hindsight. Free yourselves from the illusion that there is anything wrong with your body other than the story you’ve been telling yourself, about how there’s something wrong with your body. 

-Leila Dashtara

Empty House

~ Ella Hicks ~ 1 Comment

“I began to shiver. There was a wind blowing through me; I felt like an empty room with all the windows shattered, terror blowing through me, no comfort left. That was how I felt consciously and distinctly.” – Frederic Prokosch

This is how domestic violence feels at times. It guts you and leaves you feeling utterly alone and isolated. A shell of your former self. There is no comfort to be found in it and when you do find a moment of peace you are always preoccupied with the fear of it ending. You are never able to fully relax. To experience the relief of being able to collapse into yourself. No fear. No worries. You are on guard and vigilant 24/7, walking on eggshells and always praying that it won’t happen again. But it does. It always happens again. This is the cycle of violence and what makes it so incendiary is that it always circles back on itself. It runs deeply infecting one generation to another. Unless the cycle is broken.
.
The road back is not an easy one. It is riddled with road mines and much strife. But we the survivors are strong and must never forget to celebrate that. Freedom becomes our favorite word and courage our middle name. Day after day you must take steps forward and find support that you can lean into. Find role models of women who have walked your path before you and who inspire you. The path to healing is where you will learn to rebuild yourself on a solid foundation and begin the process of discovering who you are again. No longer will you feel like an empty house with shattered windows. Instead, you will feel a fire rising up within you declaring that you are worthy of so much more. You are so very worth the effort it will take to rebuild. You deserve a peaceful happy life. Healing takes time so you must tend to your garden with much love and self care. 🦋Ella
.
Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233 (United States)
The hotline.org
.
✨ If you are interested in life coaching please reach out to me at Ellahickscoaching@gmail.com or you can get more info and book your sessions at ellahicks.com.

Tribute

~ Ella Hicks ~ 4 Comments

I haven’t been able to write for a very long time. In part it’s due to being thoroughly immersed with my children, two masterminds, classes, and work. I just didn’t have the band width to focus on writing, although every inch of me desired to ooze out into words what I have been feeling. Much of this past year has been about me wrapping up the past and focusing on moving forward. I am laying new foundations and creating new dreams for my life. This has been a time of healing.

After leaving my abusive marriage I was completely disconnected from myself. I really had no idea who I had become or if I was anyone at all. My ex-husband left me a shell of my former self. I did the best that I could to be a single mom to my kids as I navigated the financial turmoil of a divorce while leaving behind a six figure salary for welfare. But, it was in the midst of all of this chaos that Rebel Thriver was born. In fact, it was born shortly after I lost one of the most important people in my life.

Roger Price St. John came into my life three years after I left my marriage. It started out as a professional friendship, but very quickly became more. He was the most interesting, creative, and intelligent man that I had met in a very long time. A recovered addict (14 years) who always supported others in the program. He worked the steps, donated his time for working the hotlines on holidays, and was a sponsor. He knew that good support was key in being able to make it through to the other side of recovery. Which is why it was so incredibly heart wrenchingly hard that he died of an overdose.

He was a teacher at a local college, film maker, Billabong surf camp photographer, frequent volunteer, and he ran his own non-profit surf camp that benefited needy kids in Costa Rica. Both of us artists we shared a love of photography, surfing, Pablo Neruda, and my children. After a long Summer beach day of surfing and family, he got down on one knee and proposed to me on the top of the sand dunes. The Atlantic bore witness.

I never got to marry Roger. About seven months later, after getting very sick with bronchitis, he relapsed. His doctor prescribed him cough syrup with Codeine and that was the beginning of the end. I had no idea what was coming down the pike when I saw him taking a chug of that cough medicine straight out of the bottle. Within a month he was barely functioning or even recognizable to me for that matter. The once fit and vibrant man who could tread water forever just to get the perfect picture of someone surfing out of a wave could barely shuffle his feet to get from point A to point B now. What the hell had happened? When he showed up to my home barely coherent I wouldn’t let him in. That was the last time he saw the kids, who by this time had already started to call him “dad”. And just like that he slipped away.

I watched Roger fall deeper and deeper into his addiction. The “monster”, as he called it, had laid siege and taken over. He lost his job, ended up in jail, and a psychiatric hospital before overdosing. It had been only thirteen months since he had proposed to me and only seven months after falling face first off the wagon. It was intense and it all seemed to happen at once. I was not in the head space to take this on. I was still healing from my 11 year failed marriage with a man who was mentally unstable and violently abusive. It was more than I was equipped to handle. Roger Price St. John was gone.


Writing became the outlet for my sadness, which in turn gave birth to Rebel Thriver. I started writing this blog in hopes of connecting with someone else who might have been feeling as lost as I did. If that was even possible. I never expected the response would be so great! I quickly found out that there were many other women from around the world who were in a similar place as I was. We were all trying our best to survive as we walked through that liminal space following the death of a relationship. The space of no longer and not quite yet.

Many people never get to experience true love, but I certainly did. I loved my husband with all of my heart, and it shattered into a million tiny little pieces when I had to leave him. Even though he was severely damaged before I met him, I felt like I had failed him. Roger came into my life when I believed that I would never be able to love again. He met me where I was and held a safe space for me on my path to recovery from abuse. In the end, I felt like I had failed Roger too. I had loved two incredible men, and lost both of them.

This week marks the eighth Anniversary of Roger’s death. I cannot believe that so much time has passed. He is still very much with me, and I could give you example after example of how he stays in touch; his sense of humor intact. He walks with me on the beach everyday and that gives me great comfort. Roger gave me the greatest gift that he could, love. He showed me that my heart had the capacity to love again after it had been shattered. He led me out of the darkness, into the light, and inspired my life’s work. This incredible man showed me that my heart will never stop expanding. And so on this eighth anniversary of his death my heart breaks open a little wider and my love grows a little deeper.

This is my tribute.
This is my love song. xo Ella

Lay it Down

~ Ella Hicks ~ Leave a comment

After I left my husband I had a hard time finding a path to healing. I didn’t know anyone who had lived through domestic violence. No one spoke about it at least. It felt shameful. It was as though I had arrived at a cross roads in my life. Do I hide behind a mask or do I choose to be my authentic self…scars and all. I chose the later and decided that I wanted to help smash the stigma that surrounds domestic violence. The shame that the survivor feels is due to societies perception of it as a whole. People understandably will feel sorry for you, but in doing so that can trigger feelings of embarrassment/shame. Here’s the thing, the survivor did absolutely nothing wrong and the shame should be placed squarely upon the shoulders of the abuser.

Abusive people are a plague on society. Period. They infect the same invasive sickness from one generation to the next. Without education and support there is no way to end this cycle. The abused becomes the abuser. I want to impact the lives of others through Rebel Thriver. I want people to be aware of the red flags. I want to be a part of the public discourse about DV as there is with the #metoo movement. We cannot be afraid to be honest. We cannot be afraid to use our voices. The shame is not yours so lay it down.

Lay it Down

Where do the feelings of shame come from anyway? Is it because you didn’t walk away sooner or because you went back time after time? Often a person will endure abuse quietly for years. I wore those shoes. Now think about how you got there in the the first place? Was it because for some insane reason you didn’t think you deserved better? That in and of itself is an entire other chapter. You are enough. You have always been enough.

What happens when you combine a person with low self worth with an abusive controlling partner? An intense psychological game begins that slowly breaks the victims sense of self down as the game is played out in increments. Once you actualize the situation your realize how hard it is going to be to get out. My husband threatened to kill my kids, my family, me. What do you do when you are literally a captive, a hostage in your own life. It’s hard to break free. I lived that life for years and when I finally got out I know that people thought, ‘how could a woman who looked like she had her shit together be living in such duality?’ When your reality is skewed you can find yourself just struggling to survive around the daily landmines. Survival becomes the game. Later, my mother told me that I deserved an Academy Award. My father told me that I earned a Ph D in domestic violence. Don’t judge a book by it’s cover.

Back to standing at the crossroads. I chose to not give a damn about what other people had to say. I’ve taken my life back. I declared that I am not what happened to me, and I have learned some serious lessons. I am a deeper, wiser, more empathetic, and a very soulful person as a result. This is the time to heal. If you are holding space for your own healing be open to asking for help. It is a hard path to walk alone. You have lived in scarcity and fear for far too long and you need to learn how to rewrite the script that is in your head. You need to realize that not only can you move on, but you can live a thriving life.

Rebel Thriver has been my voice piece. It has allowed me to step up in a public way to tell my story and educate people to the fact that there is no discrimination with domestic violence. It can control the life of a highly paid, college educated, executive just as easily as it can any other person. It’s hard to shine a light on the fact that the person I loved with all of my heart had chosen to treat me like an enemy. I lived a life of “normalcy” during the work week, but once I left the office it was back to the cage. Trust me, if it can happen to me it can happen to your sister, your child, your mother, your best friend, your brother, your uncle, etc. Domestic violence is intrusive not only to the victim, but also to their entire universe.

Howl

The sooner we start to smash the stigma and speak out about our experiences the sooner we will be able to educate and shift peoples perceptions of what domestic violence truly is. When the laws change to hold abusers accountable in a real way then maybe we will see change. As for now I want to use what I’ve learned to help others begin to heal and live again. Shortly after I got divorced older women would say, “You’re still young with a pretty face and you will find another man, don’t worry.” As though that was what I wanted, a another man. Some will jump from partner to partner trying to fill that void. They never stop to take a breath, thus never healing or realizing that they are enough unto themselves. A personal relationship with oneself induces healing and can bring about transformative life changes. I lost my marriage to domestic violence, but in the process I found myself. I won the game.

xo Ella