By: Naazi Morad
Trauma is like a shadow, silent, sometimes shapeless, always lingering. It doesn’t knock politely. It enters through grief, heartbreak, loss, violence, or moments too painful to speak aloud. And when therapy is offered as a path to healing, many instinctively turn and run, not because they don’t want to heal, but because fear has become their armor.
Why We Run: A Psychological Lens
From a psychological perspective, avoidance is a natural coping mechanism. The human brain, wired for survival, often prefers familiarity, even if that familiarity is pain over uncertainty. Therapy demands vulnerability, and vulnerability feels dangerous when trauma has taught you to stay guarded.
Fear of therapy often stems from:
- Shame: “If I speak it, it becomes real.”
- Loss of control: “What if I fall apart?”
- Fear of judgment: “Will they understand me?”
- Belief that trauma defines identity: “I am broken. Therapy can’t fix me.”
But here’s the truth: therapy doesn’t erase your story; it helps you rewrite how it ends. Therapy is not a courtroom. It’s not a spotlight. It’s not a place where you’re expected to be “strong.” It is a compassionate space where your pain is seen, held, and gently unraveled.
It’s where broken doesn’t mean doomed. Where silence finds its voice. And where you learn to exist not just as a survivor—but as someone fully alive.
📖 Her Story: “I Cancelled Three Times”
Lishandre was 25 when she first booked a therapy session. The puppet master had stolen more than her home, he robbed her from her, sense of safety and silenced her voice. Each time the appointment approached, she canceled. Once because of a panic attack. Another time because she “didn’t feel ready.” The third time… she didn’t even give a reason.
Her trauma whispered lies: You’re wasting their time. You’re too messed up. You’ll never be whole.
But on the fourth booking, Lishandre walked into the waiting room. No grand revelation. No dramatic shift. Just trembling hands and one brave heart. She cried. She laughed. She unraveled. Slowly, session by session, Lishandre began to reclaim the language of her own healing.
Today, Leshandre writes poetry for survivors. She shares her story with girls who cancel their sessions and believe they’ll never be brave enough.
“I didn’t show up perfect,” she says. “I just showed up. And that changed everything.”
