AngKlocke*I originally published this in May of 2025. After just a few days, I quietly removed it. I clung to what I know best and distrusted that I could make a career outside of it. Something has changed within me in the last 7+ months and I believe I can return to a creative life and that it will support me, and I can leave the trauma work behind. I am ready. I want to and I need to. And so I shall.
For a long time, I wore my trauma like a name tag.
Hello, I’m a Survivor.
I told my story. I wrote a book and blog posts and workshops. I stood on stages and behind microphones, pulling back the curtain on domestic violence and childhood wounds. I’ve shared, cried, and connected … and I don’t regret any of it. My story has helped people feel seen and less alone. That matters to me deeply.
But somewhere along the way, I started to feel tied to that identity.
Not by the story itself — that will always be part of me — but by the expectation that I always lead with it. That every introduction, every platform, every project must start with pain. That my credibility as a writer, speaker, or even human being somehow hinges on how well I can articulate the worst moments of my life.
And I’ve realized: I don’t want to be the poster child for trauma anymore.
Not because I’m ashamed. Not because I’m “over it” (healing is ongoing and layered). But because I’m also more than it.
I want to be known for my laughter, humor, and kindness.
For the way I take pictures of clouds and stairs and my coffee in the morning light.
For the joy I find in ordinary days.
For dancing in the kitchen, for long walks, for loving the people I love.
Not in spite of what I’ve been through but simply because I deserve joy.
Because we all do.
Surviving trauma doesn’t have to mean living in its shadow forever. It doesn’t have to mean constantly performing pain to prove we’ve healed (especially at the cost of never allowing a wound to fully heal because I have to keep picking at it). Sometimes healing looks like reclaiming our right to live without an explanation.
So here I am. Still a survivor. Always.
But also…
A joyful woman.
A writer of beauty.
A photographer of the world.
A lover of the everyday.
A wife, a mom, a grandma.
A whole human being.
Not a poster child. Just a person. Fully alive.
