The Healing Power of Acknowledgment
Writing as a Lifeline During Unimaginable Tragedy
When my partner Alex took his own life, I found myself reliving the morning I discovered his body over and over again: his goodbye text message, rushing to the house, coming in through the back door, the intoxicating smell of gunpowder, and then the horror—the kind not even the most twisted horror movie can prepare you for.
I had read somewhere that “you are stuck in a loop because you feel it was preventable.” At the time, it was too soon to understand what I was feeling, but guilt was definitely in the mix. Nonetheless, I was certain of one thing: I needed to write down every single detail about that morning. I believed that if I could somehow take that memory out of my head and put it somewhere outside myself, maybe I would be able to put it to rest. A part of me was desperate to erase those horrible images, but another part forced me to replay what I had witnessed in order to hold on to it—as if my brain was afraid I might forget what had happened. So I sat in front of my computer and I wrote down everything I could remember about that dreadful day, finally managing to break the loop.
As the days went by, I felt the need to keep writing. I just intuitively knew I needed to acknowledge what I had been through if I ever wanted to start healing. The only way out was through. Alex’s suicide had taught me that much. There’s no such thing as burying the pain.
A few months in, I asked myself, “Why don’t you tell the whole story? All of it. No censoring, no sugarcoating, no embellishments—just things as they happened.” And so I did. I spent three years writing my story: meeting Alex, falling in love, our relationship, his mental health struggles, moving in together, his death, and the years that followed—navigating new challenges and piecing my life back together.
It still puzzles me how I managed to complete 138,000-word manuscript in a second language, with no prior writing experience, during a time when my cognitive abilities were severely impacted by grief and trauma. Grief is a time of diminished focus and energy, while trauma interferes with memory and learning. After Alex’s death, things I used to know how to do seemed to have fallen out my head—many things I had to relearn—yet I couldn’t stop writing. Not because I’m particularly bright or determined, but because there was no other option. I was writing out of pure survival.
The Chilean-American writer Isabel Allende—considered one of the finest contemporary novelists from Latin America—shared in an interview that after her daughter Paula died prematurely at a very young age, she found herself paralyzed with sorrow and pain. Isabel’s mother told her, “If you don’t write, you’ll die. You have to write.” In 1994, she published Paula, a memoir about the darkest experience of her life—”a book written with tears.” And just like Isabel, writing became my lifeline—a way to keep myself alive during an impossible time. Writing gave me a voice, a shelter, and a friend when I couldn’t stop screaming inside my body.
The Power of Acknowledging Your Pain
Somehow I knew I had to acknowledge my pain to start healing. But why is this so important?
“Telling the story is important. Without stories, memory becomes frozen, and without memory, you cannot imagine how things can be different. [...] Silence about trauma leads to death, the death of the soul.”
Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps The Score.
Let’s break this down:
Unacknowledged trauma remains stored in the body and brain, often shaping your thoughts, emotions, relationships, and behaviors in unconscious ways. Putting your trauma into words transforms it into something that can be understood, integrated, and healed.
Suppressing trauma cuts you off from your emotions, your body, and often from others. It can manifest us numbing, dissociation, or anxiety. Acknowledgment restores access to those cut-off parts.
Expressing your trauma helps rewire the brain by integrating left-brain logic and right-brain emotion, leading to a more coherent sense of self.
Sometimes I feel that suffering in silence and isolation is what killed Alex. I fervently believe your pain needs words. Your pain needs acknowledgment. At best, you might get to keep your life but, as Dr. van der Kolk said, you will certainly lose your soul—I often wonder whether Alex was already dead before he ended his life.
Writing was the medium I gravitated toward—and what many experts recommend—but acknowledgement can take different forms for different people: talking, movement, or other creative expressions. What matters is doing it in a safe, supported environment and honoring that urge to create.
“I needed to write, to express myself through written language not only so that others might hear me but so that I could hear myself. [...] Everyone has an urge to create. Its expression may flow through many channels: through writing, art, or music or through the inventiveness of work or in any number of ways unique to all of us, whether it be cooking, gardening, or the art of social discourse. The point is to honor the urge. To do so is healing for ourselves and for others; not to do so deadens our bodies and our spirits. When I did not write, I suffocated in silence.”
Gabor Maté, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction.
Speaking Out to End the Shame
I remember how reluctant Alex was to share how he was feeling with others—how he felt he had to keep it a secret. I used to tell him there was nothing to feel ashamed of: that we all struggle at times, that it was safe to open up, that no one would judge him. But the moment I found his body and was exposed to trauma myself, I couldn’t help but feel broken beyond repair—and, consequently, ashamed of anyone thinking of me as damaged goods.
Trauma brings shame, and shame leads to silence. But as we’ve seen, silence cannot protect you. You need to acknowledge what happened—and that acknowledgment is for yourself, not for anyone else. I personally chose to speak out publicly to show Alex—even though he’s gone—that I’m not a shame to be a trauma survivor, and that he shouldn’t have been either. Because what kind of partner would I have been if I’d told him there was nothing to be ashamed of, while hiding my own struggles from others? I didn’t say those things just because it was his pain and not mine. I meant them.
Before we say goodbye, I want to leave you with a quote from Stephanie Bloom, who interviewed me on her podcast Walk With Me, Conversations With Real People and later wrote a deeply insightful article based on our conversation, Holding the Weight of a Goodbye: What We Don’t Talk About When Someone We Love Threatens Suicide.
"Paula’s strength is not just in surviving—it’s in being willing to turn her survival into a story that might guide someone else through the fog. And that, to me, is the heart of healing. Not pretending it didn’t happen, but learning how to live forward anyway."
Stephanie Bloom, Board Certified Drugless Practitioner
What part of your story needs to be acknowledged? Whether it’s through writing, speaking, or another form of expression—honor that urge. And if you’re comfortable, share a piece of it here. We grow stronger when we speak truth together.
A Note for My Readers:
First, I want to thank you for being here—for taking a few minutes out of your busy day to read my work, for sharing your own experiences when it feels right, for the words of encouragement, for making me feel heard, and for validating that talking about these topics matter.
As I shared in this article, I spent three years working on the first draft of my memoir. For a long time, I wrote because I had to—writing became my lifeline. But one day, halfway through a chapter, I realized how much I enjoy writing. I wasn’t simply writing—I had become a writer. I never imagined I’d find a creative outlet I love as much as drawing and painting—an unexpected gift from my grief and trauma.
I’m now in the process of editing my manuscript and figuring out the next steps to get this book out into the world. This blog was born as a space to expand on many of the topics I touch on in the book and to reflect on life experiences that fall outside that timeline, offering me a way to begin sharing my writing while navigating the lengthy publishing process.
With that being said, today I activated paid subscriptions—but please don’t be alarmed! My writing on Substack will continue to be available to everyone for free. The paid subscription is simply an invitation to support my work and the expenses I will continue to face in editing, publishing, and promoting my book. For the price of a latte a month, you can help me bring this project across the finish line.
If you can’t contribute financially, please continue engaging with my posts and sharing my work. We live in a time where numbers matter, and a high number of subscribers—or followers on social media—can be the difference between getting a book deal or not.