There are some truths we never chose—truths forced upon us before we had the language, the boundaries, or the power to stop them. Incest and child sexual abuse are not just violations of the body; they are invasions of the soul. They shatter the internal compass that guides us, distort our sense of safety, and carve wounds so deep that even decades later, we feel their echoes in our minds, our bodies, and our spirits.
And while society often looks for bruises or broken bones, the deepest injuries are the invisible ones—the ones that live in our nervous systems, in our belief systems, and in the stories we tell ourselves about who we are.
I lived for years not knowing I was carrying this trauma. I thought I was simply “too sensitive,” “too emotional,” “too much.” I thought the shame, the anxiety, the self-doubt, and the compulsive need to be perfect were just parts of my personality. But they weren’t. They were the residue of trauma—symptoms of a soul that had survived what should have never been endured.
This isn’t just a story about pain. It’s a story about survival. And about what happens to us—mind, body, and spirit—when our safety is stolen before we even understand what safety means.
The Mind: The War Zone You Can’t Escape
The mind of an incest survivor is often a battlefield where memories, beliefs, and survival strategies collide. Abuse rewires the brain to expect danger, to doubt itself, and to find safety in the very chaos that caused the harm.
According to trauma expert Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, “The body keeps the score, and so does the brain.” When trauma occurs, the amygdala (the brain’s alarm system) becomes overactive, the hippocampus (which processes memory) becomes impaired, and the prefrontal cortex (responsible for logic and reasoning) shuts down during perceived threats. In simpler terms: the brain becomes stuck in survival mode.
Even years after the abuse has ended, the mind of a survivor often can’t tell the difference between a real threat and a perceived one. A raised voice, a certain smell, a look of disappointment—these can all feel like danger. We become hypervigilant, constantly scanning for cues that we might not even consciously recognize.
This leads to what psychologists call Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD)—a condition often found in survivors of prolonged or repeated trauma, especially abuse that occurs within family systems. C-PTSD is not just about flashbacks or nightmares; it’s about chronic self-doubt, emotional dysregulation, and an inability to trust even our own perceptions.
The War of Self-Perception
When the person who hurt you is someone you loved, trusted, or depended on, the mind fractures under the weight of confusion. You learn to question everything—your feelings, your memories, your instincts.
You might hear an inner voice whisper:
“Was it really that bad?”
“Maybe I misunderstood.”
“Maybe it was my fault.”
This is not weakness—it’s survival. As children, our minds create whatever stories they must to preserve some sense of belonging. If our abuser was a parent or relative, admitting the truth would have meant facing unbearable terror and loss. So, instead, the child mind makes you the problem. Because believing “I’m bad” is easier than accepting “the person I love is dangerous.”
That mental rewriting—called cognitive dissonance—keeps us safe as children, but as adults, it keeps us trapped. We learn to distrust ourselves so thoroughly that we can’t tell whether our fear is intuition or overreaction. We apologize for things that weren’t our fault, explain away cruelty, and struggle to make decisions because the part of us that once screamed “no” was silenced long ago.
Healing the mind begins with learning to hear that voice again. The one that whispers, “You knew. You always knew.”
The Body: The Place We Abandoned to Survive
For many survivors, the body becomes a haunted house—a place we left to survive the unbearable. During abuse, the body goes into survival mode: heart racing, muscles tense, breathing shallow. If the threat is inescapable, the body’s final defense is to shut down—to dissociate.
Dr. Peter Levine, the founder of Somatic Experiencing, explains that trauma is not the event itself but the energy that gets stuck in the body when we are unable to fight, flee, or freeze effectively. That trapped energy becomes chronic tension, illness, or numbness.
We often develop complicated relationships with our physical selves. Some of us reject our bodies entirely—living from the neck up, numbing out with food, drugs, work, or sex. Others punish their bodies through self-harm or overexertion, trying to control what once felt uncontrollable. And many live in a state of hypervigilance, where the body never relaxes because it never got the message: you’re safe now.
The Physical Toll of Unresolved Trauma
Research shows that survivors of child sexual abuse are at significantly higher risk for chronic health issues. According to the CDC’s Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACE) Study, childhood trauma is linked to:
Autoimmune disorders
Digestive and gut problems
Migraines and chronic pain
Fatigue and fibromyalgia
Heart disease
Hormonal imbalances
When trauma is stored rather than released, it becomes cellular. The body remembers what the mind forgets. It holds the screams, the flinches, the held breaths, and the tension of every moment we were told to “be quiet.”
That’s why healing requires more than talk therapy—it requires reclaiming the body. Gentle somatic practices like yoga, breathwork, EMDR, or body-oriented psychotherapy help survivors learn to inhabit their bodies again—slowly, safely, and without judgment.
Learning to Feel Again
When I first started my healing work, I realized I couldn’t tell the difference between sadness and fear, or love and danger. My body had learned that all feelings were risky. It took time—years, really—to start listening to my body as a friend instead of an enemy.
Now, when my heart races or my stomach tightens, I don’t shame it. I ask, “What are you trying to tell me?” Because that’s what trauma healing is: learning to speak the language of your body, to trust the sensations that once terrified you, and to remember that this body—the one that endured the unendurable—is still yours. Still sacred. Still capable of joy.
The Spirit: The Part of Us That Forgot It Was Sacred
This is the wound most people overlook—the soul wound. Incest and child sexual abuse don’t just make you feel unsafe; they make you feel unworthy. They teach you that love equals pain, that trust equals danger, and that your worth depends on your ability to please or perform.
When those lies take root, they disconnect us from our spiritual selves. Many survivors describe feeling “cut off” from God, the universe, or their own inner light. Some turn away from religion altogether because the betrayal of family authority figures mirrors the betrayal of spiritual authority. Others cling to faith but secretly believe they’re too “dirty” to be loved by something holy.
The Loss of Innocence and the Spiritual Fracture
Abuse committed within the context of love creates a spiritual dissonance that words can barely capture. It corrupts our understanding of intimacy, affection, and trust. The result is a soul that forgets its own sacredness.
We stop seeing ourselves as children of divine light and start seeing ourselves as damaged goods. We attract relationships that mirror the old wounds, believing that’s all we deserve. We confuse chaos with passion, silence with safety, and punishment with love.
But underneath all that, the soul still remembers. It remembers who we were before the pain. It remembers the innocence that can never truly be destroyed.
As psychiatrist Judith Herman once wrote, “Recovery can only take place within the context of relationships; it cannot occur in isolation.” This includes our relationship with Spirit—whatever that means to us. Healing the spiritual self means reconnecting to something larger than the trauma. It means remembering that no matter what was done to you, your essence remains untouched.
The Return of the Sacred Self
Healing the spirit isn’t about forgiveness on command or forced positivity. It’s about returning to the truth that you were always worthy. You were always sacred. You were always enough.
For some, this comes through prayer or meditation. For others, it comes through nature, art, music, or connection. For me, it came through creation—through Holey House. Each word I write, each piece of art I birth into the world, feels like a reclamation of something that was taken from me.
Our spiritual awakening often begins when we realize that the “holes” trauma left behind are not voids—they are entry points for light.
The Path to Healing: Mind, Body, and Spirit Reunited
Healing from incest and child sexual abuse is not a linear journey. It’s not about “getting over it.” It’s about coming home—to yourself, to your body, to your truth.
1. Healing the Mind
Begin by challenging the old narratives. The ones that say “it was your fault,” “you’re too damaged,” “no one will believe you.” These are trauma’s lies, not your truth.
Therapies like EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), Internal Family Systems (IFS), and trauma-informed cognitive approaches can help rewire those mental pathways so the brain stops living in the past.
Learn to question your inner critic and nurture your inner child instead. The voice that says “you’re unworthy” is just a scared part of you still trying to keep you safe. Love that part. Don’t exile it.
2. Healing the Body
Reconnect to your physical self with gentleness. You don’t have to love your body right away—just start by respecting it. Stretch. Breathe. Walk barefoot on the earth. Feel the sun on your skin.
Body-based therapies, somatic exercises, or trauma-informed yoga can help release the tension that words can’t reach. As your body begins to trust you again, you’ll notice your nervous system softening, your sleep deepening, and your energy returning.
3. Healing the Spirit
The spiritual wound takes time. But you can start by remembering that you were never meant to carry this alone. Whether through community, creative expression, or quiet prayer, let yourself be witnessed.
Write. Sing. Paint. Cry. Scream. Meditate.
Each act of self-expression is a small resurrection—a reminder that you’re still here, still capable of beauty and connection.
At Holey House, we believe healing is not about filling the holes trauma left—it’s about letting light pour through them. Those holes are where wisdom, empathy, and resilience are born.
You Are Not Broken, You Are Becoming
If you’re reading this, I want you to know: healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means remembering without being consumed. It means allowing the pain to transform into purpose.
The mind that once replayed the trauma becomes the mind that speaks truth.
The body that once held the pain becomes the body that holds your power.
And the spirit that once felt lost becomes the spirit that leads others home.
You are not what happened to you.
You are who you become after.
And that becoming—it’s holy work.
So, be gentle with yourself. Be curious, not condemning.
You are not alone. You never were.
And even if you can’t feel it yet, your light is still here—shining through every hole trauma left behind.