There is no perfect way to tell a painful story.

Recently, I made the decision to take on the details of the circumstances surrounding my mom's murder that the police are ignoring on my own. It is an action that has both terrified and empowered me for a variety of reasons. Speaking up takes an incredible amount of strength and courage in the face of uncertainty. I don't know what the outcome will be, but it is something I have felt in my heart and soul I must do for quite some time now.

No one has listened to me or heard me as I expressed my concerns and my pain. Our society has a listening problem. We ignore the experiences of others unless we experience it for ourselves or the victim can provide proof, which is honestly so degrading to survivors learning to speak up. Society tends to place more weight upon the person that experienced the abuse and betrayal than the actual perpetrator, blaming us for what happened to us, shaming us for speaking up, and guilting us for not speaking up sooner.

We get accused of wanting attention, being liars, and just "talking shit" about the people that hurt us so deeply just for simply sharing the truth of our reality. We are dehumanized for our raw vulnerability. The attention society loves to give isn't positive, so why would we want it? What do I have to gain in the eyes of others by exposing my deepest wounds and how they have negatively impacted my life? I have faced insults, demonization, isolation, blame, shame, guilt trips, etc.

For many of us, it takes time for our brains to process and realize the extent of what happened to us. Clarity is not something that happens overnight once your brain has been damaged by a traumatic event. (Yes, trauma is a form of brain injury.) In many cases, there is no evidence of the abuse and crimes that took place beyond the lasting mental scars that will always be there. We just learn to live with them and hopefully give them care to help them fade.

Like many other survivors of narcissistic abuse, I do not have proof of most things that have happened to me, especially during childhood when I grew up thinking the neglect and abuse was normal. I didn't have the foresight to document what was happening to me when I didn't plan for any of this or even understand that what I was experiencing was trauma. I have some sad journal entries, but beyond that, the proof lies within my behavioral problems as a child and teenager.

I had explosive emotional outbursts from an early age. I remember purposely breaking things when I was upset at age seven. I had sexual relationships with other young children that I kept secret because, "This is how you play house, but you can't let Momma or Daddy know or they'll be mad at us." I was twelve years old when my parents put me into a psychiatric hospital for the very first time because I didn't feel safe going home with either of them. I began smoking cigarettes and drinking at age thirteen. I began experimenting with pills at fourteen. By fifteen, I had my first suicide attempt of many to come that I barely survived.

Throughout my adulthood, I have yo-yoed back and forth between making progress to better myself and falling apart all over again. The only thing that stayed consistent was the lingering shame, guilt, depression, feelings of unworthiness no matter what I did, and thoughts of not wanting to exist. I didn't understand why life seemed so much easier for other people while I felt like I was drowning.

As strange as it sounds, my mom's murder changed that for me. Sure, I was already on a healing path where I was beginning to process some of the trauma I have survived, but losing her in such a horrific way and the aftermath over the next couples of years lead my soul into a dark place where it seemed all I truly had left in my life were questions I didn't have answers to. There wasn't an answer to be found in the world around me or in the drugs I numbed myself with. So, I started to look within.

That's when I found many ugly truths. Once I faced one, it was like a flood gate opened up within me. Thoughts, feelings, and memories I had cemented and sank deep within me, believing they would never see the light of day again surfaced within my mind and body. I was finally receiving the answers to the most painful question I consistently asked myself throughout my life—why am I like this?

While I was processing a lifetime of trauma to try to understand myself, I found out about my grandfather's trust fund. I wasn't at a stage in my grief where I could see the bigger picture of everything happening. I just knew something was wrong. When our lawyer told us he thought it would be a difficult legal battle—something I knew I couldn't afford—I felt defeated, but I trusted in the divine blueprint over my life.

The day my sister and I went to sign the fraudulent trust fund, I told her, "I have a feeling us going to sign today is what will set in motion the pendulum of justice swinging in our favor." I saw omens on our drive. I heard messages in the music my sister played. I was on my way to solidify my family's deepest betrayal yet, but I felt something akin to bliss. I knew I was walking with spirit into the snake's den. I was cloaked in the love of Christ consciousness. I had already walked into the pits of hell and come out more alive than ever. I had nothing to fear in this moment either.

After we signed, I remember bursting into laughter as soon as we walked out into the street. I told my sister, "We just sealed the deal on their fate. They made their choices." I didn't know how, but I knew this was all a part of God's plan. On the drive home, I was scrying into the clouds just as one gazes into a crystal ball. I received my confirmation—a lion eating a snake in the clouds.

Making that video was a long, complicated process for me. It took several weeks as I had days my nervous system was so shot reliving the trauma that I would shut down. My anxiety was high. I cried. I felt rage. I felt despair. I was riding the waves of an ocean of emotions and scared about what I was doing. What if they retaliate? What if no one hears me? What if I don't get it right this time like every other time I have tried to be brave?

I have learned a few things throughout the entire process that I hope might help someone else struggling to find their voice.

1. Letting the fear control you means they still hold power over you.

2. If you don't tell your story, no one will ever hear you.

3. You have to become comfortable hearing your own voice before others will hear it.

4. There is no perfect way to tell a painful story.

5. It gets easier the more you speak.

Speaking up is scary and challenging. You may face opposition, but that isn't about you. Many people are reluctant to confront things that make them uncomfortable. Your personal truth highlights something within them or the world that makes them uncomfortable. Don't diminish your voice and right to tell your story just to ease the discomfort of someone else's ego. We do not grow by remaining comfortable.

It is challenging enough for us as survivors to piece together our fragmented lives after trauma into something cohesive that we can understand and try to find meaning within. Don't let the fear or expectations of others hold you back from trusting yourself and caring about your own story. You aren't perfect, but neither are the people that unfairly judge you within having walked in your shoes.

Just start speaking. The rest will come with time. Healing is a messy process. Getting it out is the first step towards something greater no matter how it looks.

The day of my deadline, I was so scared to confront my family. I could feel my stomach in my throat and needles across my body. The little voice in my head that tries to scare and hurt me kept telling me I was making a mistake while my heart was telling me it's the right thing to do.

That voice is my ego not wanting to be exposed or change. It is the programming of years of trauma that wants to maintain its grasp over my life. I realized it is all in my head. It's not who I am at my core. I can continue allowing the nightmare to be my life, or I can work towards creating my sweetest of dreams. I posted the video anyway, and I tagged my uncle and his employee on my Facebook post.

That morning, I awakened to "Brave" by Sara Bareilles playing in my head despite it not being a song I listen to often. I recorded a voice clip of my dream containing bees and sunflowers—symbols I associate my project with. When I listen to my soul, I am supported in all that I do.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwTr_CRw3GY

It's not about hatred. I don't hate them. In fact, I feel sad and hurt for them because they must live with so much pain inside of them to be the way that they are.

What I am doing is about truth. It is about accountability. It is about me coming clean instead of harboring darkness and secrets within me.

Justice for my mom, to me, means truth. Whatever the outcome is up to the universe, but at least I can say I played my part. I tried my best. I didn't give up even when the situation felt hopeless and scared me.

I am wealthy in ways beyond money because I am writing my own story from here on out. I have a feeling this is just the beginning.

Be curious, question everything.

Most of all, stay sweet honeybee.

Sting where it counts.

—Autumn Brooke, Electric Honeypot 💜🐝♾️

Copyright © 2025 [Autumn Brooke, Electric Honeypot Project]. All Rights Reserved.