About Me

Voice My Truth was born out of a deeply personal need. When I was 23, I was sexually assaulted by someone I had trusted for years. It was a preplanned attack that I did not see coming. Naively believing this person when he told me he needed my help to deal with depression after the loss of his mother, I went to our meeting spot—a hotel room. Within seconds I was handcuffed, blindfolded, and gagged while he violated me and took pictures. He was seeking revenge against me and my family for a lawsuit and wanted to blackmail my father for money.

Instead of going to the police, I confided in a close friend who pleaded with me to report it. Unfortunately, I didn’t listen. I was too embarrassed and blamed myself for being so naive. I asked her to keep my secret, which she reluctantly did. In the weeks and months that followed, I suffered from insomnia and panic attacks, one severe enough to send me to the hospital, but I continued on with my life as if nothing had happened. Eventually, my brain complied and buried the secret so deeply that I literally forgot it.

More than twenty years later, fragments of the memory began to resurface through recurring nightmares, lasting over a decade. At 52, my last and final nightmare revealed the truth my brain had been protecting me from. What shook me most wasn’t just the assault itself, it was realizing that I had forgotten it for over thirty years. A therapist I saw within days of remembering explained that my mind had shielded me through dissociative amnesia, and since I hadn’t faced it at 23, I would have to face it now. He was right, I could not go anywhere without crying. That was the start of my healing journey.

Because I had earned a degree in psychology, I became curious about how counseling had evolved over the decades. I began with traditional therapy to process both the assault and the dissociative amnesia before exploring other modalities: intuitive therapy, Reiki, EMDR, psilocybin therapy, as well as countless self-help books and podcasts. Each approach offered me something new to take away that I hadn’t learned before.

As I grew stronger, I began sharing my story to family and friends. I was deeply moved by their support and, equally struck by how many women had been holding on to their own unspoken pain. Often, when I shared, they would respond with their own story or call me days later ready to open up for the first time. Many told me they had never sought therapy and had buried their trauma just as I once had. They told me they appreciated my honesty, and that hearing my truth made them feel less alone. 

Through these conversations, I began to see how some of my lifelong behaviors—things I once thought were simply “me”—were actually connected to my trauma. Sharing openly allowed others to reflect things back to me that I couldn’t yet see for myself. That kind of honest reflection and mutual support has been invaluable.

Even now, I’ve realized healing is not a straight line. Triggers still sneak up on me when I least expect them. Letting myself speak honestly to someone I trust helps me feel less alone in it. Being heard doesn’t erase the pain, but it makes it easier to carry.

And that’s what I want to offer others through Voice My Truth–a safe space where survivors can share their stories, feel understood, and begin to transform pain into strength and experiences into empowerment.