Tag: Recovery

Circle of Hope Counseling Services, End the Stigma

Not All Scars Can Be Seen

Brandi C

circle of hope counseling services (2)

Not All Scars Can Be Seen

Not All Scars Can Be Seen

Scars tell stories. Some are visible, etched into our skin as reminders of battles fought and wounds healed. Others, though, remain hidden as they carve deep into our hearts and minds, shaping us in ways the world cannot see but are just as real.

The Weight of Invisible Wounds

Emotional and psychological scars often go unnoticed. There’s no cast for a broken spirit, no stitches for a wounded heart. Trauma, grief, anxiety, and depression—these struggles don’t always show on the outside, but they shape us just the same.

The hardest part? Others may not understand. It’s easy to offer sympathy for a physical injury. However, invisible scars often come with judgment, doubt, or well-meaning but dismissive comments like “Just move on” or “It’s all in your head.” But pain doesn’t have to be visible to be valid.

Healing Takes Time

Just like physical wounds, emotional scars need time to heal. Healing doesn’t follow a straight path; instead, it moves through ups and downs. Some days, you feel strong, and on other days, the past creeps back in. That’s okay. True healing isn’t about forgetting what hurt you—it’s about learning to live beyond the pain and finding ways to move forward.

How to Care for the Unseen Wounds

✔ Acknowledge Your Pain – Your feelings are real and deserve space. Recognizing and accepting them is the first step toward healing. ✔ Speak Your Truth – Whether through therapy, journaling, or talking to a trusted friend, expressing your emotions can be powerful and cathartic. ✔ Set Boundaries – Protect your peace. It’s okay to walk away from toxic environments and relationships that no longer serve you. ✔ Practice Self-Compassion – You are not your trauma. Therefore, be gentle with yourself and give yourself the grace to heal. ✔ Seek Support – You don’t have to carry this alone. There is strength in reaching out, and there are people who want to help.

You Are Not Alone

If you carry invisible scars, know this: You are seen. You are valued. Your pain matters. Healing is possible, and you are worthy of it.

Scars, visible or not, are proof of survival. And you? You are still here. You are still fighting and you are still standing. That is strength, resilience, and that is something to be proud of.

💛 If you’re navigating life’s hard places and need a safe space to heal, grow, or just breathe—Circle of Hope Counseling Services is here for you.

We offer trauma-informed, faith-filled therapy for individuals, couples, and families.

📞 Reach out today to schedule your first session (KY residents only) or learn more: Circle of Hope Counseling Services.

You don’t have to walk this journey alone. Hope starts here.

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Circle of Hope Counseling Services, Faith Journey, Quotes

You Can Always Begin Again

Brandi C

untitled design

No Matter How Hard the Past Is, You Can Always Begin Again

Life has a way of throwing us into storms we never saw coming. Painful moments, regrets, and heartbreak can make us feel like we are stuck—trapped in a cycle of the past. But here’s the beautiful truth: no matter how hard the past has been, you can always begin again.

Starting over isn’t about erasing what happened; it’s about choosing to move forward despite it. The past may have shaped you, but it doesn’t define you. Every sunrise brings new mercies, every breath is an opportunity to rewrite your story, and every step forward is proof that you are stronger than what tried to break you.

Maybe your past holds trauma, mistakes, or loss. Maybe you carry the weight of things you wish had been different. But beginning again isn’t about forgetting—it’s about healing. It’s about learning to give yourself the same grace you would offer someone else.

The most powerful thing you can do is believe in the possibility of renewal. It doesn’t have to be a grand, dramatic reinvention. Sometimes, beginning again looks like getting out of bed, making one small change, or allowing yourself to dream again. It looks like choosing hope, even when it feels impossible.

You are not your past. Remember, you are not your mistakes. You are a person capable of growth, love, and new beginnings. The past may be behind you, but your future is waiting—with open arms, ready for you to step into the next chapter.

So take a deep breath. Let go of the weight you no longer need to carry. And begin again.

Reach Out

💛 If you’re navigating life’s hard places and need a safe space to heal, grow, or just breathe—Circle of Hope Counseling Services is here for you.

We offer trauma-informed, faith-filled therapy for individuals, couples, and families.

📞 Reach out today to schedule your first session (KY residents only) or learn more: Circle of Hope Counseling Services.

You don’t have to walk this journey alone. Hope starts here.

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Circle of Hope Counseling Services, End the Stigma, Guest Blogger, Suicide Awareness and Prevention

What Fireworks Means to a School Shooting Survivor

Brandi C

What Fireworks Means to a School Shooting Survivor

What Fireworks Means to a School Shooting Survivor

I despise fireworks. Some of them are so pretty, but the sound triggers me. I can feel it in my chest whenever a firework goes off. The breath gets knocked out of me, and I freeze. At that moment, I am transported back to school. I am back in the classroom with my teachers and fellow student.

At that second, I could see the fear in my teacher’s eyes as he looked down the hallway at the commotion. “Run,” He says with complete fear in his eyes. The look in his eyes will forever be etched into my brain. Confused, I run down the hallway watching as a freshman falls and slides into a locker. I can’t bring myself to stop and check on her, and I’m pretty sure that makes me a bad person. I’m doing what my teacher said. I am running, from what I don’t know.

 

As I Get Outside

 

As I get outside, I stop running. I assume that it was a fire and that I am safe outside. The fire can’t get me here. “Someone brought a gun to school.” A stranger says behind me. At that point, I couldn’t think. I take off sprinting. I almost got hit by a car. It was centimeters away from hitting me. I can hear the teacher yelling at the students to get into a classroom in the tech building because it’s safe and I sprint into the building.

 

I almost enter the first room as soon as you walk in the door, but I decide that that classroom would be the first to get shot if the shooter comes up here. Then, I run a few classrooms away, sit against the wall, and wait for any information. Students and teachers start piling in. I look around and realize I can’t trust anyone. At this point, no one knows who the shooter is. Finally, the teachers shut and locked the door.

 

Calling my Brother

 

The first person I can get a hold of is my brother. He tells me that there’s been a school shooting and someone has died. My heart sinks, and all I can think about are my friends. Fear courses through my veins as I struggle to get a hold of them. Luckily, they’re all okay. I go on Twitter and desperately try to find some information. Someone sitting close to me tells me who the shooter is. I am completely shocked and In denial. I’ve known this kid since seventh grade. There’s no way he did this. I was wrong. He did do it.

 

We are sitting and waiting to be told what to do next when a student starts banging on the door. He was banging on the door hard and asking to be let it. Fear overcomes my body. I remember begging God that they wouldn’t open that door. Luckily, they didn’t. We sat there until like 9:30, and then we were told we must get on a bus.

 

SWAT

 

They let us out of the room, but we all must go in a single file line. Teachers and Swat line the walls and make a pathway to the buses. The look in the eyes of the swat member will be in my head forever. We get on the bus, and we sit there forever. I remember looking out the bus window and seeing a news helicopter flying over us and I remember being angry that they were already swarming. I mean, people just died to show some respect. It was insensitive.

 

Transporting Us

 

At around Eleven, they gave us a police escort to the nearest middle school. We took the back roads there. They piled us all into the gym and waited for our names to be called so we could leave with our parents. I remember getting home at noon, and my family had the news on the television. Sadly, I hear them reporting things that didn’t happen, so I go to my room. I couldn’t sleep that night. My adrenaline was pumping. My friends can’t sleep either. We all stay up and talk.

 

Going Back to School

 

I was battling anorexia at the time, so I didn’t eat anyways, but at this time, I go the longest I ever have without eating. Daily, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I was terrified. Going back to school was horrible. We went back on a Friday. We all met in the gym. Going to the gym was for a moment of silence, prayer, and hearing about all the available resources. The school was never the same. We jumped at every dropped book and we were constantly looking over our shoulders. Also, we were all wary of strangers. We enjoyed the service dogs that came to the school. That was the best part. We played card games to pass the time.

 

Fear

 

I always told myself that If something like that happened to me, I would never go back to school, and I finished my year out there and then became homeschooled. Honestly, I couldn’t bring myself to sit down in that school and worry about who was walking through the door. I couldn’t sit there and continue to jump at every dropped book. I’ve only been to the school twice since then, and I still struggle with going there.

 

I kept in contact with the teachers I was in the classroom with that day. You will hardly ever catch me in sandals in public because they aren’t good running shoes. Every year, I plug in my headphone and blare my music, so I don’t hear the fireworks. I can hear gunshots and shoot guns (I’m a pretty good shot), but there’s something about fireworks that I can’t handle. I wish people would be more considerate of people like me every year.

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Circle of Hope Counseling Services, End the Stigma, Guest Blogger, Suicide Awareness and Prevention

Lockup: Extended Stay

Brandi C

Lockup: Extended Stay

Lockup: Extended Stay

In Lockup: Extended Stay, I just completed a four-day stay in the hospital because of my mental health. I am not ashamed to say that’s why I was in the hospital. I needed help, and I can admit that now.

Things have been bad for me for basically a month, and I had nothing left to give. It started with me realizing that even though I had forgiven myself for my brother’s death, it didn’t make it any less painful than I was expecting. I thought that if I had forgiven myself, the hole in my heart wouldn’t feel as big.

Trauma Relived

On top of that, I have started remembering things from ten years ago, which just hasn’t worked out in my favor. I also had anxiety about what to do with the information I remembered. Do I report this even if it may ruin my family?

Do I report it even if I will have no biological family afterward? The decision was made for me. Now I’m dealing with the anxiety of waiting to hear from the police. Every time the phone rings, it’s like my world stops. I start shaking, and I get nauseous. I hate this feeling.

First Few Nights

My first few nights at the hospital were very lonely. I didn’t even start to make friends until the night before I left. Even though, I only knew those people for a short time, but they made a massive impact on me. I can’t help but think about where they are in the world.

Did Katie and Michaela get out today? What about Jamie’s mom? Did she ever pick him up from the hotel room? The other Katie, did she get the Job she interviewed for right after she got out? Did the girl with super long hair throw a chair through the window? Where are they now? Are they doing okay?

Dawn, the Night Nurse

My night nurse made the most significant impact on me. Dawn deserves a raise because she doesn’t make enough money for what she does. From the moment I met her, she was nothing but caring. The nurse answered any question I had. She got me food from the fridge when I was too anxious to do it myself. She treated me like I was her child.

On my last night there, she shared something with me that she had never shared with anyone. I won’t say what it was because that’s not my story to share, but it made me believe that I could talk to the police. I am strong enough to get through this.

Home Now

Now that I’m out, I feel like there’s this pressure that I have to be good now. Like I feel like I can’t be anxious or depressed. Don’t get me wrong, I am the best I have ever been, but it’s still not great if that makes sense. The bar was literally on the floor before now. I now appreciate the people around me a little more.

Looking back, I know I wouldn’t have made it through the past month without them. That’s not something I’ve been shy about, either. I’m so grateful to Bart (you guys may know him as “Big Daddy”) and Brandi. They have completely changed my life. I love them wholeheartedly, and I could never thank them enough for what they’ve done for me.

Guest Blogger

This was written by one of my favorite people. She is so precious to my soul. I am so encouraged by the strength it took for her to admit that something was not quite right. There have been so many days and nights that I have seen her struggle to maintain. The dam broke. Without the help of her medical provider, his nurse, and my son, she would have never had the strength to stand up for herself. She would have never sought the help that she needed.

Since doing that, it was discovered that she has Serotonin Syndrome. Many symptoms range from excessive sweating to goosebumps. All of this is caused by an accumulation of serotonin. Antidepressants cause some your body produces and some.

Thankfully, she is on the proper medication. She was on too many SSRIs and has completely leveled out. There is no shame in getting help. Had she not gotten the help she needed, she would have never discovered the meds to help her were hurting her.

 

Circle of Hope Counseling Services, End the Stigma, Guest Blogger, Suicide Awareness and Prevention

Postpartum Depression and Suicide

Brandi C

 

Postpartum Depression and Suicide

Postpartum Depression and Suicide

Postpartum Depression and Suicide are real things. The girls’ first 14 months of life were traumatizing for me as their mom. They had several health issues such as Intrauterine Growth Restriction, Small For Gestational Age, Failure To Thrive, and many other things. On the day of my 30th birthday, things took a turn. The girls were seven months old. I hadn’t heard from hardly anyone that day. I felt everyone had forgotten this birthday—honestly, even my husband. I didn’t hear from him until NOON.

 

The Plan

 

That is when Postpartum Depression and Suicide collided. On the way home that day, from running some errands, I had hit my lowest point. I was going to end it. I had it all planned out. Then, there was a moment when I heard babble. It was one of my sweet girls reminding me they were still here. It was God reminding me that He wasn’t done with me yet.

 

Getting Help

 

The next day, I spoke to a friend, and she gave me the name of her therapist. I called her and began my therapy. Therapy taught me so much about myself. I learned that grief came in many forms and looked different for everyone. I learned that the grief from losing Grandaddy and the trauma from the girls had all added up. I was suffering from Postpartum Depression (PPD). I did not get any medication because therapy was enough for me. I began to deal with my grief and even issues from my childhood that had gone unresolved.

 

Unexpected Blessing

 

When the girls were 14 months old, I unexpectedly found out I was expecting again. We also got a diagnosis for our girls at this time (just before finding out about our pregnancy). I was so scared of PPD again, but I knew I could get through it. I did well. We had a healthy boy with no IUGR (though he did have a heart defect that resolved on its own by six months of age). I first felt him kick about 16 weeks into my pregnancy. Would you like to guess what was on the radio when this happened?

 

“Baby Blues”

 

I had a little of the “baby blues” with hormones balancing back out, but I did okay. We went on to have another unexpected pregnancy that took a turn for complications at 26 weeks and again at 31 weeks. I didn’t feel him kick until about 19 weeks into my pregnancy, which scared me. Grandaddy’s song came on the radio while I was driving down the road, and I felt it. This little kick reassured me. It was his favorite song to kick as well. I had been worried about it but was told I had an anterior placenta, so that could be normal. Our sweet baby was delivered and was, again, IUGR, and the diagnosis was missed.

 

Life Got Complicated

 

Things went on, and life got complicated for a while. After a few months, I messaged my OB and my old therapist and told them I was NOT okay. My old therapist said that meds might be a good idea. My OB called me with a prescription. I also started the process to begin therapy again (and then COVID happened and put a wrench in THAT!).

 

Looking Back

 

It has been four years since that day when I thought it was all over. Two more babies have been born with our youngest, over a year old. I still think about Grandaddy every day. All of my babies know who he is and can identify him in pictures. They talk about him when they ask questions. My girls have discovered grapefruit, and one likes it. I told her that Grandaddy also loved it, so she brags about that. In so many things, I see him. I know he has truly been watching over us.

 

All Four of my Kids Still Love that Song

 

They will dance and “sing” to it. Life isn’t perfect, but I have weaned off of my anti-depressant now. Every day isn’t great, as our girls are special needs and require more care. Two days before my 34th birthday, I ended my relationship with my narcissistic mom. My 34th birthday came and went with no drama. That day was filled with peace.

 

  1. AM. A. SURVIVOR.

 

PPD and other postpartum-related illnesses affect so many. The day I turned 30, I didn’t know I was struggling with it, but I did see that I couldn’t go on. There is treatment available, and there is help. The help that will not judge you and the assistance that will support you and help you through. Please, please know that you are not alone and you are not at fault. You are strong, and you are a warrior. You can do this, and you can survive. I have battle scars, but I have fought hard, and they show that. Those scars show the fight. They remind me where I have been and that God is not done with me yet.

Resources

Postpartum HelpLine 800.944.4773

Suicide Prevention Lifeline